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OK, 


FAITH AND FIDELITY. 


A LOVE STORY. 

BY ST. GEORGE TUCKER. 

(OF VIRGINIA.) '' 

>0 r “ * r ‘ v " 1 ’ Jr n- A. ' v 


“ There was a sound of revelry by night — 

And Belgium’s capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again , 

And all went merry as a marriage bell," 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 




. ^ 

copyright: 

33. PETERSON &c BIROT HIKERS, 

1878. 



THE DEVOTED BRIDE 


CHAPTER I. 

" The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude’s cheek ; 

What though these shades had seen her birth ? Her sire 
A Briton’s independence taught to seek 
Far western worlds.” 

Gertrude of Wyoming . 

Among those who had been driven, by the disturbances 
in England, to seek a more quiet home in the wilds of 
Virginia, was a gentleman of the name of Temple. An 
Englishman by birth, he was an unwilling spectator of the 
revolution which erected the dynasty of Cromwell upon the 
ruins of the British monarchy. He had never been able to 
divest his mind of that loyal veneration in which Charles 
Stuart was held by so many of his subjects, whose better 
judgments, if consulted, would have prompted them to 
unite with the revolutionists. But it was a strong principle 
with that noble party, who have borne in history the dis- 
tinguished name of Cavaliers, rarely to consult the dictates 
of reason in questions of ancient prejudice. They preferred 
rather to err blindly with the long line of their loyal ances- 
tors in submission to tyranny, than to subvert the ancient 
principles of government in the attainment of freedom. 
They saw no difference between the knife of the surgeon 
and the sword of the destroyer — between the wholesome 
medicine, administered to heal, and the deadly poison, 
given to destroy. 


( 19 ) 


20 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Nor are these strong prejudices without their value in the 
administration of government, while they are absolutely 
essential to the guidance of a revolution. They retard and 
moderate those excesses which they cannot entirely control, 
and even though unable to avoid the descensus Averni, they 
render that easy descent less fatal and destructive. Nor is 
there anything in the history of revolutions more beautiful 
than this steady adherence to ancient principles — this faith- 
ful devotion to a fallen prince, when all others have forsaken 
him and fled. While man is capable of enjoying the bles- 
sings of freedom, the memory of Hampden will be cherished 
and revered ; and yet there is something scarcely less attrac- 
tive in the disinterested loyalty, the generous self-denial, of 
the devoted Hyde, who left the comforts of home, the pride 
of country and the allurements of fame, to join in the lonely 
wanderings of the banished Stuart. 

When at last the revolution was accomplished, and 
Charles and the hopes of the Stuarts seemed to sleep in 
the same bloody grave, Colonel Temple, unwilling longer 
to remain under the government of a usurper, left England 
for Yirginia, to enjoy in the quiet retirement of this infant 
colony, the peace and tranquillity which was denied him at 
home. From this, the last resting place of the standard 
of loyalty, he watched the indications of returning peace, 
and with a proud and grateful heart he hailed the advent 
of the restoration. For many years an influential member 
of the House of Burgesses, he at last retired from the busy 
scenes of political life to his estate in Gloucester, which, 
with a touching veneration for the past, he called Windsor 
Hall. Here, happy in the retrospection of a well spent 
life, and cheered and animated by the affection of a devoted 
wife and lovely daughter, the old Loyalist looked forward 
with a tranquil heart to the change which his increasing 
years warned him could not be far distant. 

His wife,, a notable dame of the olden time, who was 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 21 

selected, like the wife of the good vicar, for the qualities 
which wear best, was one of those thrifty, bountiful bodies, 
who care but little for the government under which they 
live, so long as their larders are well stored with provisions, 
and those around them are happy and contented. Pos- 
sessed of a good mind, and of a kind heart, she devoted her- 
self to the true objects of a woman’s life, and reigned supreme 
at home. Even when her husband had been immersed in 
the cares and stirring events of the revolution, and she 
was forced to hear the many causes of complaint urged 
against the government and stoutly combatted by the 
Colonel, the good dame had felt far more interest in market 
money than in ship money — in the neatness of her own 
chamber, than in the purity of the Star Chamber — and, in 
short, forgot the great principles of political economy in her 
love for the more practical science of domestic economy. 
We have said that at home Mrs. Temple reigned supreme, 
and so indeed she did. Although the good Colonel held 
the reins, she showed him the way to go, and though he 
was the nominal ruler of his little household, she was the 
power behind the throne, which even the throne submis- 
sively acknowledged to be greater than itself. 

Yet, for all this, Mrs. Temple was an excellent woman, 
and devoted to her husband’s interests. Perhaps it was but 
natural that, although with a willing heart, and without a 
murmur, she had' accompanied him to Virginia, she should, 
with a laudable desire to impress him with her real worth, 
advert more frequently than was agreeable to the heavy 
sacrifice which she had made. Nay more, we have but 
little doubt that the bustle and self-annoyance, the flurry 
and bluster, which always attended her domestic prepara- 
tions, were considered as a requisite condiment to give relish 
to her food. We are at least certain of this, that her fre- 
quent strictures on the dress, and criticisms on the manners 
of her husband, arose from her real pride, and from her 


22 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


desire that to the world he should appear the noble per- 
fection which he was to her. This the good Colonel fully 
understood, and though sometimes chafed by her incessant 
taunts, he knew her real worth, and had long since learned 
to wear his fetters as an ornament. 

Since their arrival in Virginia, Heaven had blessed the 
happy pair with a lovely daughter — a bliss for which they 
long had hoped and prayed, but hoped and prayed in vain. 
If hope deferred, however, maketh the heart sick, it loses 
none of its freshness and delight when it is at last realized, 
and the fond hearts of her parents were overflowing with 
love for this their only child. At the time at which our 
story commences, Virginia Temple (she was called after 
the fair young colony which gave her birth) had just com- 
pleted her nineteenth year. Reared for the most part in 
the retirement of the country, she was probably not pos- 
sessed of those artificial manners, which disguise rather 
than adorn the gay butterflies that flutter in the fashionable 
world, and which passes for refinement ; but such conven- 
tional proprieties no more resemble the innate refinement 
of soul which nature alone can impart, than the plastered 
rouge of an old faded dowager resembles the native rose 
which blushes on a healthful maiden’s cheek. There was 
in lieu of all this, in the character of Virginia Temple, a 
freshness of feeling and artless frankness, and withal a 
refined delicacy of sentiment and expression, which made 
the fair young girl the pride and the ornament of the little 
circle in which she moved. 

Under the kind tuition of her father, who, in his retired 
life, delighted to train her mind in wholesome knowledge, 
■he possessed a great advantage over the large majority of 
her sex, whose education, at that early period, was wofully 
deficient. Some there were indeed (and in this respect the 
world has not changed much in the last two centuries), who 
were tempted to sneer at accomplishments superior to their 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


23 


own, and to hint that a book-worm and a bluestocking 
would never make a useful wife. But such envious insinu- 
ations were overcome by the care of her judicious mother, 
who spared no pains to rear her as a useful as well as an 
accomplished woman. With such a fortunate education, 
Virginia grew up intelligent, useful and beloved ; and her 
good old father used often to say, in his bland, gentle man- 
ner, that he knew not whether his little Jeanie was more 
attractive when, with her favorite authors, she stored her 
mind with refined and noble sentiments, or when, in her 
little check apron and plain gingham dress, she assisted her 
busy mother in the preparation of pickles and preserves. 

There was another source of happiness to the fair Vir- 
ginia, in which she will be more apt to secure the sympathy 
of our gentler readers. Among the numerous suitors who 
sought her hand, was one who had early gained her heart, 
and with none of the cruel crosses, as yet, which the young 
and inexperienced think add piquancy to the bliss of love ; 
with the full consent of her parents, she had candidly 
acknowledged her preference, and plighted her troth, with 
all the sincerity of her young heart, to the noble, the gen 
erous, the brave Thomas Hansford. 


24 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE, 


CHAPTER II. 

u Heaven forming each on other to depend, 

A master, or a servant, or a friend, 

Bids each on other for assistance call, 

Till one man’s weakness grows the strength of all. 

Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally 
The common interest, or endear the tie. 

To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, 

Each homefelt joy that life inherits here.” 

Essay on Man. 

Begirt with love and blessed with contentment, the little 
family at Windsor Hall led a life of quiet, unobtrusive 
happiness. In truth, if there be a combination of circum- 
stances peculiarly propitious to happiness, it will be found 
to cluster around one of those old colonial plantations, 
which formed each within itself a little independent barony. 
There first was the proprietor, the feudal lord, proud of his 
Anglo-Saxon blood, whose ambition was power and per- 
sonal freedom, and whose highest idea of wealth was in the 
possession of the soil he cultivated. A proud feeling was 
it, truly, to claim a portion of God’s earth as his own ; to 
stand upon his own land, and looking around, see his broad 
acres bounded only by the blue horizon walls,* and feel in 
its full force the whole truth of the old law maxim, that he 
owned not only the surface of the soil, but even to the cen- 
tre of the earth, and the zenith of the heavens, f There 
can be but little doubt that the feelings suggested by such 

♦ The immense grants taken up by early patentees, in this country 
justifies this language, which might otherwise seem an extravagant 
hyperbole. 

f Cu/u8 e«t solum, «jua est usque ad coelum. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


25 


reflections are in the highest degree favorable to the develop- 
ment of individual freedom, so peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon 
race, and so stoutly maintained, especially among an agri- 
cultural people. This respect for the ownership of land is 
illustrated by the earliest legislation, which held sacred the 
title to the soil even from the grasp of the law, and which 
often restrained the freeholder from alienating his land from 
the lordly but unborn aristocrat to whom it should descend. 

Next in the scale of importance in this litfle baronial 
society, were the indented servants, who, either for felony 
or treason, were sent over to the a colony, and bound for a 
term of years to some one of the planters. In some cases, 
too, the poverty of the emigrant induced him to submit 
voluntarily to indentures with the captain of the ship which 
brought him to the colony, as some compensation for his 
passage. These servants, we learn, had certain privileges 
accorded to them, which were not enjoyed by the slave : 
the service of the former was only temporary, and after the 
expiration of their term they became free citizens of the 
colony. The female servants, too, were limited in their 
duties to such employments as are generally assigned to 
women, such as cooking, washing and housework ; while it 
was not unusual to see the negro women, as even now, in 
many portions of the State, managing the plough, hoeing 
the maize, wormingjaad stripping the tobacco, and harvest- 
ing the grain. The colonists had long remonstrated against 
the system of indented servants, and denounced the policy 
which thus foisted upon an infant colony the felons and the 
refuse population of the mother country. But, as was too 
often the case, their petitions and remonstrances were 
treated with neglect, or spurned with contempt. Besides 
being distasteful to them as freemen and Cavaliers, the 
indented servants had already evinced a restlessness under 
restraint, which made them dangerous members of the body 
politic. In 1662, a servile insurrection was secretly organ- 


26 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Ized, which had well nigh proved fatal to the colony. The 
conspiracy was however betrayed by a certain J ohn Berken- 
head, one of the leaders in the movement, who was incited 
to the revelation by the hope of reward for his treachery ; 
nor was the hope vain. Grateful for their deliverance, the 
Assembly voted this man his liberty, compensated his mas- 
ter for the loss of his services, and still further rewarded 
him by a bounty of five thousand pounds of tobacco. Of 
this reckless and abandoned wretch, we will have much to 
say hereafter. 

Another feature in this patriarchal system of government 
was the right of property in those inferior races of men, who 
from their nature are incapable of a high degree of liberty, 
and find their greatest development, and their truest happi- 
ness, in a condition of servitude. Liberty is at last a 
reward to be attained after a long struggle, and not the 
inherent right of every man. It is the sword which becomes 
a weapon of power and defence in the hands of the strong, 
brave, rational man, but a dangerous plaything when 
entrusted to the hands of madmen or children. And thus, 
by the mysterious government of Him, who rules the earth 
in righteousness, has it been wisely ordained, that they only 
who are worthy of freedom shall permanently possess it. 

The mutual relations established by the institution of 
domestic slavery were beneficial to both parties concerned. 
The Anglo-Saxon baron possessed power, which he has 
ever craved, and concentration and unity of will, which was 
essential to its maintenance. But that power was tempered, 
and that will controlled, by the powerful motives of policy, 
as well as by the dictates of justice and mercy. The Afri- 
can serf, on the other hand, was reduced to slavery, which, 
from his very nature, he is incapable of despising ; and an 
implicit obedience to the will of his master was essential to 
the preservation of the relation. But he, too, derived 
benefits from the institution, which he has never acquired in 


THS DEVOTED BRIDE. 27 

any other condition ; and trusting to the justice, and relying 
on the power of his master to provide for his wants, he 
lived a contented and therefore a happy life. Improvident 
himself by nature, his children were reared without his care, 
through the helpless period of infancy, while he was soothed 
and cheered in the hours of sickness, and protected and 
supported in his declining years. The history of the world 
does not furnish another example of a laboring class who 
could rely with confidence on such wages as competency and 
contentment. 

In a new colony, where there was but little attraction as 
yet, for tradesmen to emigrate, the home of the planter be- 
came still more isolated and independent. Every land- 
holder had not only the slaves to cultivate his soil and to 
attend to his immediate wants, but he had also slaves edu- 
cated and skilled in various trades. Thus, in this busy hive, 
the blaze of the forge was seen and the sound of the anvil 
was heard, in repairing the different tools and utensils of 
the farm ; the shoemaker was found at his last, the spinster 
at her wheel, and the weaver at the loom. Nor has this 
system of independent reliance on a plantation for its own 
supplies been entirely superseded at the present day. There 
may still be found, in some sections of Virginia, plantations 
conducted on this principle, where the fleece is sheared, and 
the wool is carded, spun, woven and made into clothing by 
domestic labor, and where a few groceries and finer fabrics 
of clothing are all that are required, by the independent 
planter, from the busy world beyond his little domain. 

Numerous as were the duties and responsibilities that 
devolved upon the planter, he met them with cheerfulness 
and discharged them with faithfulness. The dignity of the 
master was blended with the kind attention of the friend on 
the one hand, and the obedience of the slave, with the 
fidelity of a grateful dependent, on the other. And thus 
was illustrated, in their true beauty, the blessings of that 




28 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


much abused but happy institution, which should ever 
remain, as it has ever been placed by the commentators of 
our law, next in position, as it is in interest, to the tender 
relation of parent and child. 


CHAPTER III. 


« An old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate, 

That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, — 

With an old lady whose anger one word assuages, — 

Like an old courtier of the queen’s, 

And the queen’s old courtier.” 

Old Ballad. * 

A pleasant home was that old Windsor Hall, with its 
broad fields in cultivation around it, and the dense virgin 
forest screening it from distant view, with the carefully 
shaven sward on the velvet lawn in front, and the tall forest 
poplars standing like sentries in front of the house, and the 
venerable old oak tree at the side, with the rural wooden 
bench beneath it, where Hansford and Virginia used to sit 
and dream of future happiness, while the tame birds were 
singing sweetly to their mates in the green branches above 
them. And the house, too, with its quaint old frame, its 
narrow windows, and its substantial furniture, all brought 
from England and put down here in this new land for the 
comfort of the loyal old colonist. It had been there for 
years, that old house, and the moss and lichen had fastened 
on its shelving roof, and the luxuriant vine had been trained 
to clamber closely by its sides, exposing its red trumpet 
flowers to the sun j while the gay humming-bird, with her 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 


29 


pretty dress of green and gold, sucked their honey with her 
long bill, and fluttered her little wings in the mild air so 
swiftly that you could scarcely see them. Then there was 
that rude but comfortable old porch, destined to as many 
uses as the chest of drawers in the tavern of the Deserted 
Tillage. Protected by its sheltering roof alike from rain 
and sunshine, it was often used, in the mild summer weather, 
as a favorite sitting-room, and sometimes, too, converted 
into a dining-room. There, too, might be seen, suspended 
from the nails and wooden pegs driven into the locust pil- 
lars, long specimen ears of corn, samples of grain, and 
different garden seeds tied up in little linen bags ; and in 
the strange medley, Mrs. Temple had hung some long 
strings of red pepper-pods, sovereign specifics in cases of 
sore throat, but which seemed, among so many objects 
of greater interest, to blush with shame at their own inferi- 
ority. It was not yet the season when the broad tobacco 
leaf, brown with the fire of curing, was exhibited, and 
formed the chief staple of conversation, as well as of trade, 
with the old crony planters. The wonderful plant was just 
beginning to suffer from the encroaches of the worm, the 
only animal, save man, which is life-proof against the deadly 
nicotine of this cultivated poison. 

In this old porch the little family was gathered on .a 
beautiful evening towards the close of June, in the year 
1616. The sun, not yet set, was just sinking below the tall 
forest, and was dancing and flickering gleefully among the 
trees, as if rejoicing that he had, nearly finished his long 
day’s journey. Colonel Temple had just returned from his 
evening survey of his broad fields of tobacco, and was 
quietly smoking his pipe, for, like most of his fellow colo- 
nists, he was an inveterate consumer of this home produc- 
tion. His good wife was engaged in knitting, an occupation 
now almost fallen into disuse among ladies, but then a very 
essential part of the duties of a large plantation. Virginia, 


30 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


with her tambour frame before her, but which she had neg- 
lected in the reverie of her own thoughts, was caressing the 
noble St. Bernard dog which lay at her feet, who returned 
her caresses by a grateful whine, as he licked the small 
white hand of his mistress. This dog, a fine specimen of 
that noble breed, was a present from Hansford, and for that 
reason, as well as for his intrinsic merits, was highly prized, 
and became her constant companion in her woodland ram- 
bles in search of health and wild flowers. With all the 
vanity of a conscious favorite, Nestor regarded with well 
bred contempt the hounds that skulked in couples about the 
yard, in anxious readiness for the next chase. 

As the young girl was thus engaged, there was an air of 
sadness in her whole mien — such a stranger to her usually 
bright, happy face, that it did not escape her father’s 
notice. 

“ Why, Jeanie,” he said, in the tender manner which he 
always used towards her, “you are strangely silent this 
evening. Has anything gone wrong with my little daugh- 
ter ?” 

11 No, father,” she replied, “ at least nothing that I am 
conscious of. We cannot be always gay or sad at our 
pleasure, you know.” 

“ Nay, but at least,” said the old gentleman, “ Nestor has 
been disobedient, or old Giles is sick, or you have been 
working yourself into a sentimental sadness over Lady Wil- 
loughby’s* troubles.” 

“No, dear father; though, in reality, that melancholy 
story might well move a stouter heart than mine.” 

“Well, confess then,” said her father, “that, like the 
young French gentleman in Prince Arthur’s days, you are 
sad as night only for wantonness. But what say you, 

* I have taken these beautiful memoirs, now known to be the produc- 
tion of a modern pen, to be genuine. Their truthfulness to nature cer- 
tainly will justify me in such a liberty. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 31 

mother, has anything gone wrong in household affairs to 
cross Virginia ?” 

“No, Mr. Temple,” said the old lady. “Certainly, if 
Virginia is cast down at the little she has to do, I don’t 
know what ought to become of me. But that’s a matter 
of little consequence. Old people have had their day, and 
needn’t expect much sympathy.” 

“ Indeed, dear mother,” said Virginia, “ I do not com- 
plain of anything that I have to do. I know that you 
do not entrust as much to me as you ought, or as I 
wish. I assure you, that if anything has made me sad, 
it is not you, dear mother,” she added, as she tenderly kissed 
her mother. 

“ Oh, I know that, my dear ; but your father seems to 
delight in always charging me with whatever goes wrong. 
Goodness knows, I toil from Monday morning till Saturday 
night for you all, and this is all the thanks I get. And if 
I were to work my old fingers to the bone, it would be all 
the same. Well, it won’t last always.” 

To this assault Colonel Temple knew the best plan was 
not to reply. He had learned from sad experience the 
truth of the old adages, that “ breath makes fire hotter,” 
and that “the least said is soonest mended.” He only 
signified his consciousness of what had been said by a quiet 
shrug of the shoulders, and then resumed his conversation 
with Virginia. 

“ Well then, my dear, I am at a loss to conjecture the 
cause of your sadness, and must throw myself upon your 
indulgence to tell me or not, as you will. I don’t think you 
ever lost anything by confiding in your old father.” 

“ I know I never did,” said Virginia, with a gentle sigh, 
“ and it is for the very reason that you always make my 
foolish little sorrows your own, that I am unwilling to 
trouble you with them. But really, on the present occasion- 
I scarcely know what to tell you. ” 


32 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“Then why that big pearl in your eye?” returned her 
father. “Ah, you little rogue, I have found you out at 
last. Mother, I have guessed the riddle. Somebody has 
not been here as often lately as he should. Now confess, 
you silly girl, that I have guessed your secret.” 

The big tears that swam in his daughter’s blue eyes, and 
then rolling down, dried themselves upon her cheek, told 
the truth too plainly to justify denial. 

“ I really think Yirginia has &ome reason to complain,” 
said her mother. “ It is now nearly three weeks since Mr.' 
Hansford was here. A young lawyer’s business don’t keep 
him so much employed as to prevent these little courteous 
attentions.” 

“We used to be more attentive in our day, didn’t we, 
old lady ?” said Colonel Temple, as he kissed his good wife’s 
cheek. 

This little demonstration entirely wiped away the remem- 
brance of her displeasure. She returned the salutation 
with an affectionate smile, as she replied, 

“Yes, indeed, Henry; if there was less sentiment, there 
was more real affection in those days. Love was more in 
the heart then, and less out of books, than now.” 

“ Oh, but we were not without our little sentiments, too. 
Yirginia, it would have done you good to have seen how 
gaily your mother danced round the May-pole, with her 
courtly train, as the fair queen of them all ; and how I, all 
ruffs and velvet, at the head of the boys, and on bended 
knee, begged her majesty to accept the homage of our loyal 
hearts. Don’t you remember, Bessy, the grand parliament, 
when we voted you eight subsidies, and four fifteenths to be 
paid in flowers and candy, for your grand coronation ?” 

“ Oh, yes !” said the old lady ; “ and then the coronation 
itself, with the throne made of the old master’s desk, all 
nicely carpeted and decorated with flowers and evergreen ; 
and poor Billy Newton, with his long, solemn face, a paste- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


33 


board mitre, and his sister’s night-gown for a pontifical robe, 
acting the Archbishop of Canterbury, and placing the crown 
upon my head 1” 

“ And the game of Barley-break in the evening,” said the 
Colonel, fairly carried away by the recollections of these old 
scenes, “ when you and I, hand in hand, pretended only to 
catch the rest, and preferred to remain together thus, in 
what we called the hell, because we felt that it was a heaven 
to us.”* 

“ Oh, fie, for shame!” said the old lady. “Ah, well, 
they don’t have such times now-a-days.” 

“No, indeed,” said her husband; “old Noll came with 
his nasal twang and puritanical cant, and dethroned May- 
queens as well as royal kings, and his amusements were 
only varied by a change from a hypocritical sermon to a 
psalm-singing conventicle.” 

Thus the old folks chatted on merrily, telling old stories, 
which, although Yirgnia had heard them a hundred times 
and knew them all by heart, she loved to hear again. 
She had almost forgotten her own sadness in this occupa- 
tion of her mind, when her father said — 

“ But, Bessy, we had almost forgotten, in our recollec- 
tions of the past, that our little Jeanie needs cheering up. 
You should remember, my daughter, that if there were any 
serious cause for Mr. Hansford’s absence, he would have 

* The modern reader will need some explanation of this old game, whose 
terms seem, to the refined ears of the present day, a little profane. Bar- 
ley-break resembled a game which I have seen played in my own time, 
called King Cantelope, but with some striking points of difference. In 
the old game, the play-ground was divided into three parts of equal size, 
and the middle of these sections was known by the name of hell. The 
boy and girl, whose position was in this place, were to attempt, with 
joined hands, to catch those who should try to pass from one section to 
the other. As each one was caught, he became a recruit for the couple in 
the middle, and the last couple who remained uncaught took the places 
of those in hell, and thus the game commenced again. 

2 


84 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

written to yon. Some trivial circumstance, or some matter 
. of business, has detained him from day to day. He will be 
here to-morrow, I have no doubt.” . . 

“ I know I ought not to feel anxious,” said Virginia, her 
lip quivering with emotion; “he has so much to do, not 
only in his profession, but his poor old mother needs lus 
presence a great deal now ; she was far from well when he 

was last here.” . 

“ Well, I respect him for that,” said her mother. It is 

too often’the case with these young lovers, that when they 
think of getting married, and doing for themselves, the poor 
old mothers are laid on the shelf.” 

“ And yet,” continued Virginia, “ I have a kind of pre- 
sentiment that all may not be right with him. I know it is 
foolish, but I can’t— I can’t help it ?” 

These presentiments, my child,” said her father, who 
was not without some of the superstition of the time, 

« although like dreams, often sent by the Almighty for wise 
purposes, are more often but the phantasies of the imagi- 
nation. The mind, when unable to account for circum- 
stances by reason, is apt to torment itself with its own 
fancy — and this is wrong, Jeanie.” 

“ I know all this,” replied Virginia, “ and yet have no 
power to prevent it. But,” she added, smiling through her 
tears, “ I will endeavor to be more cheerful, and trust for 
better things.” 

“ That’s a good girl ; I assure you I would rather hear 
you laugh once than to see you cry a hundred times,” said 
the old man, repeating a witticism that Virginia had heard 
ever since her childish trials and tears over broken dolls or 
tangled hair. The idea was so grotesque and absurd, that 
the sweet girl laughed until she cried again. 

“ Besides,” added her father, “ I heard yesterday that 
that pestilent fellow, Bacon, was in arms again, and it may 
be necessary for Berkeley to use some harsh means to pun- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


85 


ish his insolence. I would not be at all surprised if Hans- 
ford were engaged in this laudable enterprise.” 

“ God, in his mercy, forbid,” said Virginia, in a faint 
voice. 

“And why, my daughter? Would you shrink from 
lending the services of him you love to your country, in her 
hour of need ?” 

“ But the danger, father 1” 

“ There can be but little danger .n an insurrection like 
this. Strong measures will soon suppress it. Nay, the 
very show of organized and determined resistance will 
strike terror into the white hearts of these cowardly knaves. 
But if this were not so, the duty would be only stronger.” 

“Yes, Virginia, ” said her mother. “No one knows 
more than I, how hard it is for a woman to sacrifice her 
selfish love to her country. But in my day we never hesi- 
tated, and I was happy in my tears, when I saw your father 
going forth to fight for his king and country. There was 
none of your ‘ God forbid ’ then, and you need not expect 
to be more free from trials than those who have gone 
before you.” 

There was no real unkindness meant in this speech of 
Mrs. Temple, but, as we have before reminded the reader, 
she took especial delight in magnifying her own joys and 
her own trials, and in making an invidious comparison of 
the present day with her earlier life, always to the prejudice 
of the former. Tenderly devoted to her daughter, and 
deeply sympathizing in her distress, she yet could not forego 
the - pleasure of reverting to the time when she too had 
similar misfortunes, which she had borne with such exem- 
plary fortitude. To be sure, this heroism existed only in 
the dear old lady’s imagination, for no one gave way to 
trials with more violent grief than she. Virginia, though 
accustomed to her mother’s peculiar temper, was yet affected 
t>y her language, and her tears flowed afresh. 


36 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


u Cheer up, my daughter,” said her father, “ these tears 
are not only unworthy of you, but they are uncalled for 
now. This is at last but conjecture of mine, and I have no 
doubt that Hansford is well and as happy as he can be 
away from you. But you would have proved a sad heroine 
in the revolution. I don’t think you would imitate success- 
fully the bravery and patriotism of Lady Willoughby, whose 
memoirs you have been reading. Oh 1 that was a day for 
heroism, when mothers devoted taeir sons, and wives their 
husbands, to the cadse of England and of loyalty, almost 
without a tear. ” 

“I thank God,” said the weeping girl, “that he has not 
placed me in such trying scenes. With all my admiration 
for the courage of my ancestors, I have no ambition to suffer 
their dangers and distress.” 

“Well, my dear,” replied her father, “I trust you may 
never be called upon to do so. But if such should be your 
fate, I also trust that you have a strong heart, which would 
bear you through the trial. Come now, dry your tears, and 
let me hear you sing that old favorite of mine, written by 
poor Dick Lovelace. His Lucasta* must have been some- 
thing of the same mind as my Virginia, if she reproved him 
for deserting her for honour.” 

“ Oh, father, I feel the justice of your rebuke. I know 
that none but a brave woman deserves the love of a brave 
man. Will you forgive me ?” 

“Forgive you, my daughter ?— yes, if you have done 
anything to be forgiven. Your old father, though his head 
is turned gray, has still a warm place in his heart for all 
your distresses, my child ; and that heart will be cold in 
death before it ceases to feel for you. But come, I must 
not lose my song, either.” 

* The lady to whom the song is addressed. It may be found in Percy'* 
Reliques, or in almost any volume of old English poetry. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


37 


And Virginia, her sweet voice rendered more touchingly 
beautiful by her emotion, sang the noble lines, which have 
almost atoned for all the vanity and foppishness of their 
unhappy author. 

“ Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 

If from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, 

To war and arms I fly. 

“ True, a new mistress now I chase. 

The first foe in the field, 

And with a stronger faith embrace 
The sword, the horse, the shield. 

“Yet, this inconstancy is such 
As you too shall adore ; 

I had not loved thee, dear, so much. 

Loved I not honour more !” 

“ Yes,” repeated the old patriot, as the last notes of the 
sweet voice died away ; “ yes, * I had not loved thee, dear, 
so much, loved I not honour more !’ This is the language 
of the truly noble lover. Without a heart which rises 
superior to itself, in its devotion to honour, it is impossible 
to love truly. Love is not a pretty child, to be crowned 
with roses, and adorned with trinkets, and wooed by soft 
music. To the truly brave, it is a god to be worshipped, a 
reward to be attained, and to be attained only in the path 
of honour !” 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Temple, looking towards the wood, 
“ that Virginia’s song acted as an incantation. If I mis- 
take not, Master Hansford is even now coming to explain 
his own negligence.” 


38 


the devoted bride. 


CHAPTER IV. 

te Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, 

Fresh as a bridegroom.” 

Henry IV. 

In truth a young man, well mounted on a powerful bay, 
was seen approaching from the forest, that lay towards 
Jamestown. Virginia’s cheek flushed with pleasure as she 
thought how soon all her fears would vanish away in the 
presence of her lover — and she laughed confusedly, as her 
father said, 

“ Aye, come dry your tears, you little rogue — those eyes 
are not as bright as Hansford would like to see. Tears are 
very pretty in poetry and fancy, but when associated with 
swelled eyes and red noses, they lose something of their 
sentiment. ” 

As the horseman came nearer, however, Virginia found 
to her great disappointment, that the form was not that of 
Hansford, and with a deep sigh she went into the house. 
The stranger, who now drew up to the door, proved to be 
a young man of about thirty years of age, tall and well- 
proportioned, his figure displaying at once symmetrical 
beauty and athletic strength. He was dressed after the 
fashion of the day, in a handsome velvet doublet, trussed 
with gay-colored points at the waist to the breeches, which 
reaching only to the knee, left the finely turned leg well 
displayed in the closely-fitting white silk stockings. Around 
his wrists and neck were revealed graceful ruffles of the 
finest cambric. The heavy boots, which were usually worn 
by cavaliers, were in this case supplied by shoes fastened 
with roses of ribands. A handsome sword, with orna- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


39 


mented hilt, and richly chased scabbard, was secured 
gracefully by his side in its fringed hanger. The felt hat, 
whose wide brim was looped up and secured by a gold 
button in front, completed the costume of the young stranger. 
The abominable fashion of periwigs, which maintained its 
reign over the realm of fashion for nearly a century, was 
just beginning to be introduced into the old country, and 
had not yet been received as orthodox in the colony. The 
rich chestnut hair of the stranger fell in abundance over 
his fine shoulders, and was parted carefully in the middle 
to display to its full advantage his broad intellectual fore- 
head. But in compliance with custom, his hair was dressed 
with the fashionable love-locks, plaited and adorned with 
ribands, and falling foppishly over either ear. 

But dress, at last, like “rank, is but the guinea’s stamp, 
the man’s the gowd for a’ that,” and in outward appearance 
at least, the stranger was of no alloyed metal. There was 
in his air that easy repose and self-possession which is 
always perceptible in those whose life has been passed in 
association with the refined and cultivated. But still there 
was something about his whole manner, which seemed to 
betray the fact, that this habitual self-possession, this frank 
and easy carriage was the result of a studied and constant 
control over his actions, rather than those of a free and 
ingenuous heart. 

This idea, however, did not strike the simple minded 
Virginia, as with natural, if not laudable curiosity, she 
surveyed the handsome young stranger through the win- 
dow of the hall. The kind greeting of the hospitable old 
colonel having been given, the stranger dismounted, and 
the fine bay that he rode was committed to the protecting 
care of a grinning young African in attendance, who with 
his feet dangling from the stirrups trotted him off towards 
the stable. 

“ I presume,” said the stranger, as they walked towards 


40 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

the house , “ that from the directions I have received, I have 
the honor of seeing Colonel Temple. It is to the kind- 
ness of Sir William Berkeley that I owe the pleasure I 
enjoy in forming your acquaintance, sir,” and he handed a 
letter from his excellency, which the reader may take the 
liberty of reading with us, over Colonel Temple’s shoulder. 

“ Right trusty old friend,” ran the quaint and formal, yet 
familiar note. “ The bearer of these, Mr. Alfred Bernard, 
a youth of good and right rare merit, but lately from Eng- 
land, and tfhom by the especial confidence reposed in him 
from our noble kinsman Lord Berkeley, we have made our 
private secretary, hath desired acquaintance with some of 
the established gentlemen in the colony, the better for his 
own improvement, to have their good society. And in all 
good faith, there is none, to whom I can more readily com- 
mend him, than Colonel Henry Temple, with the more per- 
fect confidence in his desire to oblige him, who is always as 
of yore, his right good friend, 

“William Berkeley, Kn’t. 

“From our Palace at Jamestown, June 20, A. D . 167 6.” 

“ It required not this high commendation, my dear sir,” 
said old Temple, pressing his guest cordially by the hand, 
“ to bid you welcome to my poor roof. But I now feel 
that to be a special honour, which would otherwise be but 
the natural duty of hospitality. Come, right welcome to 
Windsor Hall.” 

With these words they entered the house, where Alfred 
Bernard was presented to the ladies, and paid his devoirs 
with such knightly grace, that Virginia admired, and Mrs. 
Temple heartily approved, a manner and bearing, which, 
she whispered to her daughter, was worthy of the old 
cavalier days before the revolution. Supper was soon an- 
nounced — not the awkward purgatorial meal, perilously 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


41 


poised in cups, and eaten with greasy fingers — so dire a foe 
to comfort and silk dresses — but the substantial supper of 
the olden time. It is far from our intention to enter into 
minute details, yet we cannot refrain from adverting to the 
fact that the good old cavalier grace was said by the Colo- 
nel, with as much solemnity as his cheerful face would 
wear — that grace which gave such umbrage to the Puritans 
with their sour visages and long prayers, and which con- 
sisted of those three expressive words, “ God bless us.” 

“ I have always thought,” said the Colonel, apologeti- 
cally, “ that this was enough — for where’s the use of praying 
over our meals, until they get so cold and cheerless, that 
there is less to be thankful for. ” 

“Especially,” said Bernard, chiming in at once with the 
old man’s prejudices, “ when this brief language contains 
all that is necessary — for even Omnipotence can but bless 
us — and we may easily leave the mode to Him.” 

“Well said, young man, and now come and partake of 
our homely fare, seasoned with a hearty welcome,” said the 
Colonel, cordially. 

Nor loth was Alfred Bernard' to do full justice to the 
ample store before him. A ride of more than thirty miles 
had whetted an appetite naturally good, and the youth of 
“right rare merit,” did not impress his kind host very 
strongly with his conversational powers during his hearty 
meal. 

The repast being over, the little party retired to a room, 
which the old planter was pleased to call his study, but 
which savored far more of the presence of the sportive 
Diana, than of the reflecting muses. Over the door, as 
you entered the room, were fastened the large antlers of 
some noble deer, who had once bounded freely and grace- 
fully through his native forest. Those broad branches are 
now, by a sad fatality, doomed to support the well oiled 
fowling-piece that laid their wearer low. Fishing tackle, 


42 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


shot-pouches, fox brushes, and other similar evidences and 
trophies of sport, testified to the Colonel’s former delight 
in angling and the chase ; but now alas ! owing to the 
growing infirmities of age, though he still cherished his 
pack, and encouraged the sport, he could only start the 
youngsters in the neighborhood, and give them God speed 1 
as with horses, hounds, and horns they merrily scampered 
away in the fresh, early morning. But with his love for 
these active, manly sports, Colonel Temple was devoted to 
reading such works as ran with his prejudices, and savored 
of the most rigid loyalty. His books, indeed, were few, for 
in that day it was no easy matter to procure books at all, 
especially for the colonists, who cut off from the great foun- 
tain of literature which was then just reviving from the 
severe drought of puritanism, were but sparingly supplied 
with the means of information. But a few months later 
than the time of which we write, Sir William Berkeley 
boasted that education was at a low ebb in Virginia, and 
thanked his God that so far there were neither free schools 
nor printing presses in the colony — the first instilling and the 
last disseminating rebellious sentiments among the people. 
Yet under all these disadvantages, Cohmel Temple was 
well versed in the literature of the last two reigns, and with 
some of the more popular works of the present. Shakspeare 
was his constant companion, and the spring to which he 
often resorted to draw supplies of wisdom. But Milton 
was held in especial abhorrence — for the prose writings of 
the eloquent old republican condemned unheard the sub- 
lime strains of his divine poem. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


43 


CHAPTER Y. 

“ A man in all the world’s new fashion planted, 

That hath a mint of phrases in his brain ; 

One, whom the music of his own vain tongue, 

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony j 
A man of compliments.” Love's Labor Lost . 

“Well, Mr. Bernard,” said the old Colonel as they 
entered the room, “ take a seat, and let’s have a social chat. 
We old planters don’t get a chance often to hear the news 
from Jamestown, and I am afraid you will find me an 
inquisitive companion. But first join me in a pipe. There 
is no greater stimulant to conversation than the smoke of 
our Virginia weed.” 

“You must excuse me,” said Bernard, smiling, “I have 
not yet learned to smoke, although, if I remain in Virginia, 
I suppose I will have to contract a habit so general here.” 

“ What, not smoke I” said the old man, in surprise. “ Why 
tobacco is at once the calmer of sorrows, the assuager of 
excitement ; the companion of solitude, the life of company ; 
the quickener of fancy, the composer of thought.” 

“ I had expected,” returned Bernard, laughing at his 
host’s enthusiasm, “that so rigid a loyalist as yourself, 
would be a convert to King J ames’s Counterblast. Have 
you never read that work of the royal pedant ?” 

“ Read it !” cried the Colonel, impetuously. “ No ! and 
what’s more, with all my loyalty and respect for his mem- 
ory, I would sooner light my pipe with a page of his Basili- 
con, than subscribe to the sentiments of his Counterblast.” 

“Oh, he had his supporters too,” replied Bernard, 
smiling. “You surely cannot have forgotten the song of 


44 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Cucullus in the Lover’s Melancholy and the young man 
repeated, with mock solemnity, the lines, 

“ They that will learn to drink a health in hell, 

Must learn on earth to take tobacco well. 

For in hell they drink no wine, nor ale, nor beer, 

But fire and smoke and stench, as we do here.” 

“Well put, my young friend,” said Temple, laughing in 
his turn. “ But you should remember that J ohn Ford had 
to put such a sentiment in the mouth of a Bedlamite. 
Here, Sandy,” he added, kicking a little negro boy, who 
was nodding in the corner, dreaming, perhaps, of the 
pleasures of the next ’possum hunt, “ Run to the kitchen, 
Sandy, and bring me a coal of fire.” 

“And, now, Mr. Bernard, what is the news political 
and social in the big world of J amestown ?” 

“Much to interest you in both respects. It is indeed a 
part of my duty in this visit, to request that you and the 
ladies will be present at a grand masque ball to be given 
on Lady Frances’s birth-night.” 

“A masque in Virginia !” exclaimed the Colonel, “that 
will be a novelty indeed ! But the Governor has not the 
opportunity or the means at hand to prepare it.” 

“ Oh, yes !” replied Bernard, “we have all determined to 
do our best. The assembly will be in session, and the 
good burgesses will aid us, and at any rate if we cannot 
eclipse old England, we must try to make up in pleasure, 
what' is wanting in brilliancy. I trust Miss Temple will 
aid us by her presence, which in itself will add both plea- 
sure and brilliancy to the occasion.” 

Virginia blushed slightly at the compliment, and re- 
plied — 

“ Indeed, Mr. Bernard, the presence which you seem to 
eMeem so highly depends entirely on my father’s permis- 
sion — but I will unite with you in urging that as it is a 


* 


i 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 45 

novelty to me, he will not deny his assent. I should like 
of all things to go.” 

“Well, my daughter, as you please — but what says mo- 
ther to the plan ? You know she is not queen consort only, 
and she must be consulted.” 

“I am sure, Colonel Temple,” said the good lady, “that 
I do as much to please Virginia as you can. To be sure, 
a masque in Virginia can afford but little pleasure to me, 
who have seen them in all their glory in England, but 
I have no doubt it will be all well enough for the young 
people, and I am always ready to contribute to their 
amusement.” , 

“ I know that, my dear, and J eanie can testify to it as 
well as I. But, Mr. Bernard, what is to be the subject of 
this masque, and who is the author, or are we to have a 
rehash of rare Ben Jonson’s Golden Age ?” 

“ It is to be a kind of parody of that, or rather a bur- 
lesque;” replied Bernard, “and is designed to hail the 
advent of the Restoration, a theme worthy of the genius of 
a Shakspeare, though, unfortunately, it is now in far hum- 
bler hands.” 

“A noble subject, truly,” said the Colonel, “and from 
your deprecating air, I have no doubt that we are to be 
indebted to your pen for its production.” 

“Partly, sir,” returned Bernard, with an assumption of 
modesty. “ It is the joint work of Mr. Hutchinson, the 
chaplain of his excellency, and myself.” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Bernard, are you a poet,” cried the old lady 
in admiration; “this is really an honour. Mr. Temple 
used to write verses when we were young, and although 
they were never printed, they were far prettier than a great 
deal of the lovesick nonsense that they make such a fuss 
about. I was always begging him to publish, but he never 
would push himself forward, like others with not half his 
merit.” 


46 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

“ 1 do not pretend to any merit, my dear madam,” said 
Bernard, “ but I trust that with my rigid loyalty, and par- 
son Hutchinson’s rigid episcopacy, the roundhead puritans 
will not meet with more favour than they deserve. Neither 
of us have been long enough in the colony to have learned 
from observation the taste of the Virginians, but there is 
abundant evidence on record that they were the last to 
desert the cause of loyalty, and to submit to the sway of 
the puritan Protector.” 

“ Right, my friend, and she ever will be, or else old 
Henry Temple will seek out some desolate abode untainted 
with treason wherein to drag out the remainder of his days.” 

“ Your loyalty was never more needed,” said Bernard ; 
“ for Virginia, I fear, will yet be the scene of a rebellion, 
which may be but the brief epitome of the revolution.” 

“Aye, you refer to this Baconian movement. I had 
heard that the demagogue was again in arms. But surely 
you cannot apprehend any danger from such a source.” 

“Well, I trust not; and yet the harmless worm, if left 
to grow, may acquire fangs. Bacon is eloquent and popu- 
lar, and has already under his standard some of the very, 
flower of the colony. He must be crushed and crushed at 
once ; and yet I fear the worst from the clemency and de- 
lay of Sir William Berkeley.” 

“ Tell me ; what is his ground of quarrel ?” asked Tem- 
ple. ” 

“ Why, simply that having taken up arms against the 
Indians without authority, and enraging them by his in- 
justice and cruelty, the governor required him to disband 
the force he had raised. He peremptorily refused, and de- 
manded a commission from the governor as general-in-chief 
of the forces of Virginia to prosecute this unholy war.” 

“ Why unholy ?” asked the Colonel. “ Rebellious as 
was his conduct in refusing to lay down his arms at the 
command of the governor, yet I do not see that it should 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 47 

be deemed unholy to chastise the insolence of these sa« 
vages.” 

“ I will tell you, then,” replied Bernard. “ His avowed 
design was to avenge the murder of a poor herdsman by a 
chief of the Doeg tribe Instead of visiting his vengeance 
upon the guilty, he turned his whole force against the Sus- 
quehannahs, a friendly tribe of Indians, and chased them 
like sheep into one of their forts. Five of the Indians re- 
lying on the boasted chivalry of the whites, came out of the 
fort unarmed, to inquire the cause of this unprovoked at- 
tack. They were answered by a charge of musketry, and 
basely murdered in cold blood.” 

‘‘Monstrous !” cried Temple, with horror. “ Such infi- 
delity will incense the whole Indian race against us and 
involve the country in another general war.” 

“ Exactly so,” returned Bernard, “and such is the go- 
vernor’s opinion ; but besides this, it is suspected, and with 
reason too, that this Indian war is merely a pretext on the 
part of Bacon and a few of his followers, to cover a deeper 
and more criminal design. The insolent demagogue prates 
openly about equal rights, freedom, oppression of the mother 
country, and such dangerous themes, and it is shrewdly 
thought that, in his wild dreams of liberty, he is taking 
Cromwell for his model. He has all of the villainy of 
the old puritan, and a good deal of his genius and ability. 
But I beg pardon, ladies, all this politics cannot be very 
palatable to a lady’s taste. We will certainly expect you, 
Mrs. Temple, to be present at the masque ; and if Miss 
Virginia would prefer not to play her part in the exhibi- 
tion, she may still be there to cheer us with her smiles. I 
can speak for the taste of all gallant young Virginians, that 
they will readily pardon her for not concealing so fair a 
face beneath a mask.” 

“ Ah, I can easily see- that you are but lately from Eng- 
land,” said Mrs. Temple, delighted with the gallantry of 


48 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


the young man. “Your speech, fair sir, savours far more 
of the manners of the court than of these untutored forests. 
Alas ! it reminds me of my own young days.” 

“ Well, Mr. Bernard,” said the Colonel, interrupting his 
wife in a reminiscence, which bid fair to exhaust no brief 
time, “you will find that we have only transplanted old 
English manners to another soil. 

“ 1 Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currant.’ ” 

“ I am glad to see,” said Bernard, casting an admiring 
glance at Virginia, “ that this new soil you speak of, Colonel 
Temple, is so favourably adapted to the growth of the 
fairest flowers.” 

“ Oh, you must be jesting, Mr. Bernard,” said the old 
lady, “ for although I am always begging Virginia to pay 
more attention to the garden, there are scarcely any flowers 
there worth speaking of, except a few roses that I planted 
with my own hands, and a bed of violets.” 

“You mistake me, my dear madam,” returned Bernard, 
still gazing on Virginia with an affectation of rapture, “ the 
roses to which I refer bloom on fair young cheeks, and the 
violets shed their sweetness in the depths of those blue eyes. ” 

“ Oh, you are at your poetry, are you ?” said the old 
lady. 

“ Not if poetry extends her sway only over the realm of 
fiction,” said Bernard, laying his hand upon his heart. 

“Indeed, Mr. Bernard,” said Virginia, not displeased at 
flattery, which however gross it may appear to modern ears, 
was common with young cavaliers in former days, and rel- 
ished by the fair damsels, “ I have been taught that flowers 
flourish far better in the cultivated parterre, than in the 
wild woods. I doubt not that, like Orlando, you are but 
playing off upon a stranger the sentiments, which, in reality, 
you reserve for some faithful Rosalind whom you have left 
in England.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


49 


“You now surprise me, indeed,” returned Bernard, “for 
do you know thaf\imong all the ladies that grace English 
society, there are but few who ever heard of Rosalind or 
her Orlando, and know as little of the forest of Ardennes as 
of your own wild forests in Virginia.” 

“I have heard,” said the Colonel, “that old Will Shaks- 
peare and his cotemporaries — peers he has none — have been 
thrown aside for more modern writers, and I fear that 
England has gained nothing by the exchange. Who is now 
your prince of song?” 

“There is a newly risen wit and poet, John Dryden by 
name, who seems to bear the palm undisputed. Waller is 
old now, and though he still writes, yet he has lost much 
of his popularity by his former defection from the cause of 
loyalty. ” 

“ Well, for my part, give me old wine, old friends and 
old poets,” said the Colonel. “ I confess I like a bard to 
be consecrated by the/ united plaudits of two or three gene- 
rations, before I can give him my ready admiration.” 

“ I should think your acquaintance with Horace would 
have taught you the fallacy of that taste,” said Bernard. 
“Do you not remember how the old Roman laureate com- 
plains of the same prejudice existing in his own day, and 
argues that on such a principle merit could be accorded to 
no poet, for all must have their admirers among cotempo- 
raries, else their works* would pass into oblivion, before 
their worth were fairly tested ?” 

“ I cannot be far wrong in the present age at least,” said 
Temple, “ from what I learn and from what X have myself 
seen, the literature of the present reign is disgraced by the 
most gross and libertine sentiments. As the water of a 
healthful stream if dammed up, stagnates and becomes the 
fruitful source of unwholesome malaria, and then, when re- 
leased, rushes forward, spreading disease and death in its 
course, so the liberal feelings and manners of old England, 
3 


50 ' THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

restrained by the rigid puritanism of the Protectorate, at 
last burst forth in a torrent of disgusting and diseased 
libertinisra. ,, 

Bernard had not an opportunity of replying to this ela- 
borate simile of the good old Colonel, which, like Fadla- 
deen, he had often used and still reserved for great oc- 
casions. Further conversation was here interrupted by a 
new arrival, which in this case, much to the satisfaction of 
the fair Yirginia, proved to be the genuine Hansford. 


CHAPTER VI. 

" Speak of Mortimer I 

Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him.” 

Henry IV. 

Thomas Hansford, in appearance and demeanour, lost 
nothing in comparison with the accomplished Bernard. He 
certainly did not possess in so high a degree the easy 
assurance which characterized the young courtier, but his 
self-confidence^ blended with a becoming modesty, and his 
open, ingenuous manners, fully compensated for the differ- 
ence. There was that in his clear blue eye and pleasant 
smile which inspired confidence in all whom he approached. 
Modest and unobtrusive in his expressions of opinion, he 
was nevertheless firm in their maintenance when announced, 
and though deferential to superiors in age and position, and 
respectful to all, he was never servile or obsequious. 

The same kind of difference might be traced in the dress 
of the two young men, as in their manners. With none of 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


51 


the ostentatious display, which we have described as belong- 
ing to the costume of Bernard, the attire of Hansford was» 
plain and neat. He was dressed in a grey douoiei anu 
breeches, trussed with black silk points. His long hose 
were of cotton, and his shoes were fastened, not with the 
gay colored ribbons before described, buijvith stout leather 
thongs, such as are still often used in the dress Of a country 
gentleman. His beaver was looped with a plain black 
button, in front, displaying his fair hair, which was brushed 
plainly back from his forehead. He, too, wore a sword by 
his side, but it was fastened, not by handsome fringe and 
sash, but by a plain belt around his waist. It seemed 
as though it were worn more for use than ornament. 
We have been thus particular in describing the dress of 
these two young men, because, as we have hinted, the con- 
trast indicated the difference in their characters — a differ- 
ence which will, however, more strikingly appear in the 
subsequent pages of this narrative. 

‘‘Well, my boy,” said old Temple, heartily, “I am glad 
to see you ; you have been a stranger among us lately, but 
are none the less welcome on that account. Yet, faith, lad, 
there was no necessity for whetting our appetite for your 
company by such a long absence.” 

“ I have been detained on some business of importance,” 
replied Hansford, with some constraint in his manner. “ I 
am glad, however, my dear sir, that I have not forfeited 
my welcome by my delay, for no one, I assure you, has had 
more cause to regret my absence than myself.” 

“Better late than never, my boy,” said the Colonel. 
“ Come, here is a new acquaintance of ours, to whom I 
wish to introduce you. Mr. Alfred Bernard, Mr. Hans- 
ford.” 

The young men saluted each other respectfully, and 
Hansford passed on to “ metal more attractive.” Seated 
once more by the side of his faithful Virginia, he forgot the 


52 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


presence of all else, and the two lovers w.ere soon deep in 
conversation, in a low voice. 

“ 1 hope your absence was not caused by your mother's 
increased sickness,” said Yirginia. 

“ No, dearest, ‘the old lady’s health is far better than it 
has been for some time. But I have many things to tell 
you which will surprise, if they do not please you.” 

“ Oh, you have no idea what a fright father gave me this 
evening,” said Yirginia. “ He told me that you had pro- 
bably been engaged by the governor to aid in suppressing 
this rebellion. I fancied that there were already twenty 
bullets through your body, and made a little fool of myself 
generally. But if I had known that you were staying away 
from me so long without any good reason, I would not have 
been so silly, I assure you.” 

“ Your care for me, dear girl, is very grateful to my feel- 
ings, and indeed it makes me very sad to think that I may 
yet be the cause of so much unhappiness to you.” 

“ Oh, come now,” said the laughing girl, “ don’t be senti- 
mental. You men think very little of ladies, if you sup- 
pose that we are incapable of listening to anything but 
flattery. Now, there’s Mr. Bernard has been calling me 
flowers, and roses, and violets, ever since he came. For 
my part, I would rather be loved as a woman, than admired 
as all the flowers that grow in the world.” 

“ Who is this Mr. Bernard ?” asked Hansford. 

“ He is the Governor’s private secretary, and a very nice 
fellow he seems to be, too. He has more poetry at his 
finger’s ends than you or I ever read, and he is very hand- 
some, don’t you think so ?” 

“ It is very well that I did not prolong my absence 
another day,” said Hansford, “ or else I might have found 
my place in .your heart supplied by this foppish young 
fribble.” * 


* A coxcomb, a popinjay. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 53 

“Nay, now, if you are going to be jealous, I will get 
angry,” said Virginia, trying to pout her pretty lips. “ But 
say what you will about him, he is very smart, and what’s 
mpre, he writes poetry as well as quotes it.” 

“ And has he told- you of all his accomplishments so 
soon ?” said Hansford, smiling ; “ for I hardly suppose you 
have seen a volume of his works, unless he brought it here 
with him. What else can he do ? Perhaps he plays the 
flute, and dances divinely ; and may-be, but for * the vile 
guns, he might have been a soldier.’ He looks a good deal 
like Hotspur’s dandy to my eyes.” 

“ Oh, don’t be so ill-natured,” said Virginia, “ He never 
would have told about his writing poetry, but father 
guessed it.” 

11 Your father must have infinite penetration then,” said 
Hansford, “for I really do not think the young gentleman 
looks much as though he could tear himself from the mirror 
long enough to use his pen.” 

“ Well, but he has written a masque, to be performed 
day-after-to-morrow night, at the palace, to celebrate Lady 
Prances’ birth-day. Are you not going to the ball. Of 
course you’ll be invited.” 

“ No, dearest,” said Hansford, with a sigh. “ Sir Wil- 
liam Berkeley might give me a more unwelcome welcome 
than to a masque.” 

“ What on earth do you mean ?” said Virginia, turning 
pale with alarm. " You have not — ” 

“Nay, you shall know all to-morrow,” replied Hansford. 

“ Tom,” cried Colonel Temple, in his loud, merry voice, 
“ stop cooing there, and tell me where you have been all 
this time. I’ll swear, boy, I thought you had been helping 
Berkeley to put down that d — d renegade, Bacon.” 

“ I am surprised,” said Hansford, with a forced, but 
uneasy smile, “ that you should suppose the Governor had 
entrusted an affair of such moment to me.” 


54 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ Zounds, lad,” said the Colonel, “ I never dreamed that 
you were at the head of the expedition. Oh, the vanity of 
youth ! No, I suppose my good friends, Colonel Ludwell 
and Major Beverley, are entrusted with the lead. But I 
thought a subordinate office — ” 

“ You are mistaken altogether, Colonel,” said Hansford. 
“ The business which detained me from Windsor Hall had 
nothing to do with the suppression of this rebellion, and 
indeed I have not been in Jamestown for some weeks.” 

“ Well, keep your own counsel then, Tom ; but I trust it 
was at least business connected with your profession. I 
like to see a young lawyer give his undivided attention to 
business. But I doubt me, Tom, that you cheat the law 
out of some of the six hours that Lord Coke has allotted 
to her.” 

“ I have, indeed, been attending to the preparation of a 
cause of some importance,” said Hansford. 

“ Well, I’m glad of it, my boy. Who is your client ? I 
hope he gives you a good retainer.” 

“ My fee is chiefly contingent,” replied the young lawyer, 
sorely pressed by the questions of the curious old Colonel. 

“ Why, you are very laconic,” returned Temple, trying 
to enlist him in conversation. “ Come, tell me all about it. 
I used to be something of a lawyer myself in my youth, 
didn’t I, Bessy ?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said his wife, who was nearly dozing over 
her eternal knitting ; “ and if you had stuck to your pro- 
fession, and not mingled in politics, my dear, we would 
have been much better off. You know I always told 
you so.” 

“I believe you did, Bessy,” said the Colonel. “But 
what’s done can’t be undone. Take example by me, Tom, 
d’ye hear, and never meddle in politics, my boy. But I 
believe I retain some cobwebs of law in my brain yet, and 
I might help you in your case. Who is your client ?” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


55 


“ The Colony is one of the parties to the cause,’’ replied 
Hansford ; “ but the details cannot interest the ladies, you 
know ; I will confer with you some other time on the sub- 
ject, and will be very happy to have your advice.” 

All this time, Alfred Bernard had been silently watching 
the countenance of Hansford, and the latter had been 
unpleasantly conscious of the fact. As he made t<he last 
remark, he saw the keen eyes of Bernard resting upon him 
with such an expression of suspicion, that he could not 
avoid wincing. Bernard had no idea of losing the advan- 
tage which he thus possessed, and with wily caution he pre- 
pared a snare for his victim, more sure of success than an 
immediate attack would have been. 

“ I think I have heard something of the case,” he said, 
fixing a penetrating glance on Hansford as he spoke, “ and 
I agree with Mr. Hansford, that its details here would not 
be very interesting to the ladies. By the way, Colonel, your 
conjecture, that Mr. Hansford was employed in the suppres- 
sion of the rebellion, reminds me of a circumstance that I 
had almost forgotten to mention. You have heard of that 
fellow Bacon’s perjury — ” 

“ Perjury 1” exclaimed the Colonel. “No ! on the con- 
trary I had been given to understand that, with all his faults, 
his personal honour was so far unstained, even with sus- 
picion.” 

“Such was the general impression,” returned Bernard, 
“ but it is now proven that he is as capable of the greatest 
perfidy as of the most daring treason.” 

“You probably refer, sir, to an affair,” said Hansford, 
“ of which I have some knowledge, and on which I may 
throw some light which will be more favorable to Mr. 
Bacon.” 

“ Your being able to conjecture so easily the fact to which 
I allude,” said Bernard, “ is in itself an evidence that the 
general impression of his conduct is not so erroneous. I 


56 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


am happy,” he added, with a sneer, “that in this free coun- 
try. a rebel even can meet with so disinterested a defender.” 

“ If you refer, Mr. Bernard,” replied Hansford, disre- 
garding the manner of Bernard, “ to the alleged infraction 
of his parole, I can certainly explain it. I know that 
Colonel Temple does npt, and I hope that you do not, wish 
deliberately to do any man an injustice, even if he be a foe 
or a rebel.” 

“ That’s true, my boy,” said the generous old Temple. 
“ Give the devil his due, even he is not as black as he is 
painted. That’s my maxim. How was it, Tom ? And 
begin at the beginning, that’s the only way to straighten a 
tangled skein.” 

“ Then, as I understand the story,” said Hansford, in a 
slow, distinct, voice, “ it is this : — After Mr. Bacon returned 
to Henrico from his expedition against the Indians, he was 
elected to the House of Burgesses. On attempting to go 
down the river to Jamestown, to take his seat, he was 
arrested by Captain Gardiner, on a charge of treason, and 
brought as a prisoner before Sir William Berkeley. The 
Governor, expressing himself satisfied with his disclaimer 
and open recantation of any treasonable design, released 
him from imprisonment on parole, and, as is reported, prom- 
ised at the same time to grant him the commission he 
desired. Mr. Bacon, hearing of the sickness of his wife, 
returned to Henrico, and while there, secret warrants were 
issued to arrest him again. Upon a knowledge of this fact 
he refused to surrender himself under his parole.” 

“ You have made a very clear case of it, if the facts be 
true,” said Bernard, in a taunting tone, “ and seem to be 
well acquainted with the motives and movements of the 
traitor. I 'have no doubt there are many among his deluded 
followers who fail to appreciate the full force of a parole 
d’honneur.” 

" Sir 1” said Hansford, his face flushing with indignation. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 57 

" I only remarked,” said Bernard, in reply, “that a traitor 
to his country knows but little of the laws which govern 
honourable men. My remark only applied 'to traitors, and 
such I conceive the followers and supporters of Nathaniel 
Bacon to be.” 

Hansford only replied with a bow. 

“ And so does Tom,” said Temple, “ and so do we all, 
Mr. Bernard. But Hansford knew Bacon before this late 
movement of his, and he is very loth to hear his old friend 
charged with anything that he does not deserve. But see, 
my wife there is nodding over her knitting, and Jeanie’s 
pretty blue eyes, I know, begin to itch. Our motto is, Mr. 
Bernard, to go to bed with the chickens and rise with the 
lark. But we have failed in the first to-night, and I reckon 
we will sleep a little later than lady lark to-morrow. So, 
to bed, to bed, my lord.” 

So saying, tire hospitable old gentleman called a servant 
to show the gentlemen to their separate apartments. 

“ You will be able to sleep in an old planter’s cabin, Mr. 
Bernard,” he said, “ where you will find all clean and com- 
fortable, although perhaps a little rougher than you are 
accustomed to. Tom, boy, you know the ways of the 
aouse, and I needn’t apologize to you. And so pleasant 
dreams and a good night to you both.” 

After the Colonel had gone, and before the servant had 
appeared, Hansford touched Bernard lightly on the shoul- 
der. The latter turned around with some surprise. 

“You must be aware, Mr. Bernard,” said Hansford, 
“that your language to-night remained unresented only 
because of my respect for the company in which we were.” 

“ I did not deem it of sufficient importance,” replied 
Bernard, assuming an indifferent tone, “to inquire whether 
your motives for silence were respect for the family or regard 
for yourself.” 

“ You now at least know, sir. Let me ask you whether 


58 


the devoted bride. 


you made the remark to which I refer with a full knowledge 
of who I was, and what were my relations towards Mr. 
Bacon.” 

“ I decline making any explanation of language which, 
both in manner and expression, was sufficiently intelligible.” 

“ Then, sir,” said Hansford, resolutely, “there is but one 
reparation that you can make,” and he laid his hand signifi- 
cantly on his sword. 

“I understand you,” returned Bernard, “but do not hold 
myself responsible to a man whose position in society may 
be more worthy of my contempt than of my resentment.” 

The company in which you found me, and the gentleman 
who introduced us, are sufficient guarantees of my position. 
If under these circumstances you refuse, you take advantage 
of a subterfuge alike unworthy of a gentleman or a brave 
man.” 

“ Even this could scarcely avail you, since the family are 
not aware of the treason by which you have forfeited any 
claim to their protection. But I waive any such objection, 
sir, and accept your challenge.” 

“ Being better acquainted with the place than yourself,” 
said Hansford, “I would suggest, sir, that there is a little 
grove in rear of the barn-yard, which is a fit spot for our 
purpose. There will there be no danger of interruption.” 

“As you please, sir,” replied Bernard. “To-morrow 
morning, then, at sunrise, with swords, and in the grove you 
speak of.” 

The servant entered the room at this moment, and the 
two young men parted for the night, having thus settled in 
a few moments the preliminaries of a mortal combat, with 
as much coolness as if it had been an agreement for a fox- 
hunt. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


59 


CHAPTER VII. 

“‘We try this quarrel hilt to hilt/ 

Then each at once his falchion drew, 

Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 

Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 

As what they ne’er might see again ; 

Then foot, and point, and eye opposed. 

In dubious strife they darkly closed.” 

Lady of the Lake . 

It is a happy thing for human nature that the cares, and 
vexations, and fears, of this weary life, are at least excluded 
from the magic world of sleep. Exhausted nature will seek 
a respite from her trials in forgetfulness, and steeped in the 
sacred stream of Lethe, like the young Achilles, she 
becomes invulnerable. It is but seldom that care dares 
intrude upon this quiet realm, and though it may be truly 
said that sleep “ swift on her downy pinions flies from woe,” 
yet, when at last it does alight on the lid sullied by a tear, 
it rests as quietly as elsewhere. We have scarcely ever 
read of an instance where the last night of a convict was 
not passed in tranquil slumber, as though Sleep, the sweet 
sister of the dread Terror, soothed more tenderly, in thi3 
last hour, the victim of her gloomy brother’s dart. 

Thomas Hansford, for with him our story remains, slept 
as calmly on this night as though a long life of happiness 
and fame stretched out before his eyes. ’Tis true, that ere 
he went to bed, as he unbelted his trusty sword, he looked 
at its well-tempered steel with a confident eye, and thought 
of the morrow. But so fully imbued were the youth of 
that iron age with the true spirit of chivalry, that life was 
but little regarded where honour was concerned, and the pre- 
carious tenure by which life was held, made it less prized 
by those who felt that they might be called on any day to 


60 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


surrender it. Hansford, therefore, slept soundly, and the 
first red streaks of the morning twilight were smiling 
through his window when he awoke. He rose, and dressing 
himself hastily, he repaired to the study, where he wrote a 
few hasty lines to his mother and to Virginia— the first to 
assure her of his filial love, and to pray her forgiveness for 
thus sacrificing life for honour ; and the second breathing 
the warm ardour of his heart for her who, during his brief 
career, had lightened the cares and shared the joys which 
fortune had strewn in his path. As he folded these two 
letters and placed them in his pocket, he could not help 
drawing a deep sigh, to think of these two beings whose 
fate was so intimately entwined with his own, and whose 
thread of life would be weakened when his had been sev- 
ered. Repelling such a thought as unworthy a brave man 
engaged in an honourable cause, he buckled on his sword 
and repaired with a firm step to the place of meeting. 
Alfred Bernard, true to his word, was there. 

And now the sun was just rising above the green forest, 
to the eastward. The hands, as by a striking metonymy 
those happy laborers were termed, who never knew the 
cares which environ the head, 'were just going out to their 
day’s work. Men, women and children, some to plough 
the corn, and one a merry teamster, who, with his well 
attended team, was driving to the woods for fuel. And in 
the barn-yard were the sleek milch cows, smelling fresh with 
the dewy clover from the meadow, and their hides smoking 
with the early dew of morning ; and the fowls, that strutted 
and clucked, and cackled, in the yard, all breakfasting on 
the scanty grains that had fallen from the horse-troughs — 
all save one inquisitive old rooster, who, flapping his wings 
and mounting the fence to crow, eyed askant the two young 
men, as though, a knight himself, he guessed their bloody 
intent. And the birds, too, those joyous, happy beings, 
who pass their life in singing, shook the fresh dew from 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 61 

their pretty wings, cleared their throats in the bracing air, 
and like the pious Persian, pouring forth their hymn of 
praise to the morning sun, fluttered away to search for their 
daily food. All was instinct with happiness and beauty. 
All were seeking to preserve the life which God had given 
but two, and they stood there, in the bright, dewy morning, 
to stain the fair robe of nature with blood. It is a sad 
thought, that of all the beings who rejoice in life, he alone, 
who bears the image of his Maker, should have wandered 
from His law. 

The men saluted one another coldly as Hansford ap- 
proached, and Bernard said, with a firm voice, “ You see, 
sir, I have kept my appointment. I believe nothing 
remains but to proceed.” 

“ You must excuse me for again suggesting,” said Hans- 
ford, “ that we wait a few moments, until these labourers 
are out of sight. We might be interrupted.” 

Bernard silently acquiesced, and the combatants stood at 
a short distance apart, each rapt in his own reflections. 
What those reflections were may be easily imagined. Both 
were young men of talent and promise. The one, the 
favourite of Sir William Berkeley, saw fame and distinction 
awaiting him in the colony. The other, the beloved of the 
people, second only to Bacon in their affections, and by that 
great leader esteemed as a friend and entrusted as a confi- 
dant, had scarce less hope in the future. The one a stranger, 
almost unknown in the colony, with little to care for in the 
world but self; the other the support of an aged mother, 
and the pride of a fair and trusting girl — the strong rock, 
on whose protection the grey lichen of age had rested, and 
around which the green tendrils of love entwined. Both 
men of erring hearts, who in a few moments might be sum- 
moned to appear at that dread bar, where all the secrets 
of their hearts are known, and all the actions of their lives 
are judged. The two combatants were nearly equally 


4 


62 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

matched in the use of the sword. Bernard’s superior skill 
in fence being fully compensated by the superior coolness 
of his adversary. 

Just as the last labourer had disappeared, both swords 
flashed in the morning sun. The combat was long, and the 
issue doubtful. Each seemed so conscious of the skill of 
the other, that both acted chiefly on the defensive. But 
the protracted length of the fight turned to the advantage 
of Hansford, who, from his early training and hardy exer- 
cise, was more accustomed to endure fatigue. Bernard 
became weary of a contest of such little interest, and at 
last, forgetting the science in which he was a complete adept, 
he made a desperate lunge at the breast of the young colo- 
nist. This thrust Hansford parried with such success, that 
he sent the sword of his adversary flying through the air. 
In attempting to regain possession of his sword, Bernard’s 
foot slipped, and he fell prostrate to the ground. ' 

“ Now yield you,” cried the victor, as he stood above the 
prostrate form of his antagonist, “ and take back the foul 
stain which you have placed upon my name, or, by my troth, 
you had else better commend yourself to Heaven.” 

“ I cannot choose but yield,” said Bernard, rising slowly 
from the ground, while his face was purple with rage and 
mortification. “ But look ye, sir rebel, if but I had that 
good sword once more in my hand, I would prove that I 
can yet maintain my honour and my life against a traitor’s 
arm. I take my life at your hands, but God do so to me, 
and more also, if the day do not come when you will wish 
that you had taken it while it was in your power. The life 
you give me shall be devoted to the one purpose of 
revenge.” 

“ As you please,” said Hansford, eyeing him with an 
expression of bitter contempt. “ Meantime, as you value 
your life, dedicated to so unworthy an object, let me hear no 
more of your insolence.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ Nay, by my soul,” cried Bernard, “ I will not bear your 
taunts. Draw and defend yourself !” At the same time, 
with an active spring, he regained possession of his lost 
sword. But just as they were about to renew the attack, 
there appeared upon the scene of action a personage so 
strange in appearance, and so wild in dress, that Bernard 
dropped his weapon in surprise, and with a vacant stare 
gazed upon the singular apparition. 

The figure was that of a young girl, scarce twenty years 
of age, whose dark copper complexion, piercing black eyes, 
and high cheek bones, all proclaimed her to belong to that 
unhappy race which had so long held undisputed posses- 
sion of this continent. Her dress was fantastic in the 
highest degree. Around her head was a plait of peake, 
made from those shells which were used by the Indians at 
once as their roanoke, or money, and as their most highly 
prized ornament of dress. A necklace and bracelets of the 
same adorned her neck and arms. A short smock, made 
of dressed deer-skin, which reached only to her knees, and 
was tightly fitted around the waist with a belt of wampum, 
but scantily concealed the swelling of her lovely bosom. 
Her legs, from the knee to the ancle, were bare, and her feet 
were covered with buckskin sandals, ornamented with beads, 
such as are yet seen in our western country, as the handi- 
work of the remnant of this unhappy race. Such a pic- 
turesque costume well became the graceful form that wore 
it. Her long, dark hair, which, amid all these decorations, 
was her loveliest ornament, fell unbound over her shoulders 
in rich profusion. As she approached, with light and elastic 
step, towards the combatants, Bernard, as we have said, 
dropped his sword in mute astonishment. It is true, that 
even in his short residence in Virginia, he had seen Indians 
at Jamestown, but they had come with friendly purpose to 
ask favors of the English. His impressions were therefore 
somewhat similar to those of a man who, having admired 


64 


THE DEV OT E T) IUUDE. 


the glossy coat, and graceful, athletic form of a tiger in a 
menagerie, first sees that fierce animal bounding towards 
him from his Indian jungle. The effect upon him, however, 
was of course but momentary, and he again raised his sword 
to renew the attack. But his opponent, without any desire 
of engaging again in the contest, turned to the young girl 
and said, in a familiar voice, “Well, Mamalis, what brings 
you to the hall so early this morning ?” v 

“ There is danger there,” replied the young girl, solemnly, 
and in purer English than Bernard was prepared to hear. 

“ If you would help me, put up your long knife and follow 
me.” 

“ What do yon mean ?” asked Hansford, alarmed by her 
manner and words. , , 

“ Manteo and his braves come to take blood for blood,” 
returned the girl. “ There is no time to lose.” 

“In God’s name, Mr. Bernard,” said Hansford, quickly, 
“come along with us. This is no time for private quarrel. 
Our swords are destined for another use.” 

“Most willingly,” replied Bernard; “our enmity will 
scarcely cool by delay. And mark me, young man, Alfred 
Bernard will never rest until he avenges the triumph of 
your sword this morning, or the foul blot which you have 
placed upon his name. But let that pass now. Can this 
creature’s statement be relied on ?” 

“ She is as true as Heaven,” whispered Hansford. “ Come 
on, for we have indeed but little time to lose ; at another 
time I will afford you ample opportunity to redeem your 
honour or to avenge yourself. You will not find my blood 
cooler by delay.” And so the three walked on rapidly 
towards the house, the two young men side by side, after 
having sworn eternal hostility to one another, but yet wil- 
ling to forget their private feud in the more important duties 
before them. 

The reader of the history of this interesting period, will 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


65 


remember that there were, at this time, many causes of dis- 
content prevailing among the Indians of Virginia. As has 
been before remarked, the murder of a herdsman, Robert 
Hen b.y name, and other incidents of a similar character, 
were so terribly avenged by the incensed colonists, not only 
upon the guilty, but upon friendly tribes, that the discontent 
of the Indians was wide spread and nearly universal. Nor 
did it cease until the final suppression of the Indian 
power by Nathaniel Bacon, at the battle of Bloody Run. 
This, however, was but the immediate cause of hostilities, 
for which there had already been, in the opinion of the 
Indians, sufficient provocation. Many obnoxious laws had 
been passed by the Assembly, in regard to the savages, that 
were so galling to their independence, that the seeds of dis- 
cord and enmity were already widely sown. Among these 
were the laws prohibiting the trade in guns and ammunition 
with the Indians ; requiring the warriors of the peaceful 
tribes to wear badges in order that they might be recog- 
nized ; restricting them in their trade to particular marts ; 
and, above all, providing that the Werowance, or chief of 
a tribe, should hold his position by the appointment of the 
Governor, and not by the choice of his braves. This last 
provision, which struck at the very independence of the 
tribes, was so offensive, that peaceable relations with the 
Indians could not long be maintained. Add to this the 
fact, which for its inhumanity is scarcely credible, that the 
English at Monados, now the island of New York, had, 
with a view of controlling the monopoly of the trade in furs 
and skins, inspired the Indians with a bitter hostility toward 
the Virginians, and it will easily be seen that the magazine 
of discontent needed but a spark to explode in open hos- 
tility. 

So much is necessary to be premised in order that the 
reader may understand the relations which existed, at this 
period, between the colonists and the Indians around them. 

4 


66 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

u And in, the buskined hunters of the deer, 

To Albert’s home with shout and cymbal throng.” 

Campbell. 

The surprise and horror with which the intelligence of 
this impending attack was received by the family at Wind- 
sor Hall may be better imagined than described. Manteo, 
the leader of the party, a young Indian of the Pamunkey 
tribe, was well known to them all. With his sister, the 
young girl whom we have described, he lived quietly in his 
little wigwam, a few miles from the hall, and in his inter- 
course with the family had been friendly and even affec- 
tionate. But with all this, he was still ardently devoted to 
his race, and thirsting for fame ; and stung by what he con- 
ceived the injustice of the whites, he had leagued himself 
in an enterprise, which, regardless of favour or friendship, 
was dictated by revenge. 

It was, alas ! too late to hope for escape from the hall, 
or to send to the neighboring plantations for assistance ; 
and, to add to their perplexity, the whole force of the farm, 
white servants and black, had gone to a distant field, where 
it was scarcely possible that they could hear of the attack 
until it was too late to contribute their aid in the defence. 
But with courage and resolution the gentlemen prepared to 
make such defence or resistance as was in their power, and, 
indeed, from the unsettled character of the times, a plan- 
ter’s house was no mean fortification against the attacks of 
the Indians. Early in the history of the colony, it was 
found necessary, for the general safety, to enact laws 
requiring each planter to provide suitable means of defence, 


67 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

in case of any sudden assault by the hostile tribes. Accord- 
ingly, the doors to these country mausions were made of 
the strongest material, and in some cases, and such was the 
cuse at Windsor Hall, were lined on the interior by a thick 
sheet of iron. The windows, too, or such as were low 
enough to be scaled from the ground, were protected by 
shutters of similar material. Every planter had several 
guns, and a sufficient store of ammunition for defence. 
Thus it will be seen that Windsor Hall, protected by three 
vigorous men, well armed and stout of heart, was no con- 
temptible fortress against the rude attacks of a few savages, 
whose number in all probability would not exceed twenty. 
The greatest apprehension was from fire ; but, strange to 
say, the savages but seldom resorted to this mode of ven- 
geance, except when wrought up to the highest state of 
excitement.* 

“At any rate,” said the brave old Colonel, “we will 
remain where we are until threatened with fire, and then 
at least avenge our lives with the blood of these infamous 
wretches. ” 

The doors and lower windows had been barricaded, and 
the three men, armed to the teeth, stood ready in the hall 
for the impending attack. Virginia and her mother were 
there, the former pale as ashes, but suppressing her emotions 
with a violent effort in order to contribute to her mother’s 
comfort. In fact, the old lady, notwithstanding her boast 
of bravery on the evening before, stood in need of all the 
consolation that her daughter could impart. She vented 
her feelings in screams as loud as those of the Indians she 
feared, and refused to be comforted. Virginia, forgetful 

* This fact, which I find mentioned by several historians, is explained 
by Kercheval, in his history of the Valley of Virginia, by the supposition 
that the Indians for a long time entertained the hope of reconquering the 
country, and saved property from destruction which might be of use to 
them in the future. See page 90 of Valley of Va. 


68 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


of her own equal danger, leant tenderly over her mother, 
who had thrown herself upon a sofa, and whispered those 
sweet words of consolation, which religion can alone sug- 
gest in the hour of our trial : 

“Mother, dear mother,” she said, “remember that 
although earthly strength should fail, we are yet in the 
hands of One who is mighty.” 

“Well, and what if we are,” cried her mother, whose 
faith was like that of the old lady, who, when the horses 
ran away with her carriage, trusted in Providence till the 
breeching broke. “ Well, and what if we are, if in a few 
minutes our scalps may be taken by these horrible savages ?” 

“ But, dear mother, He h^s promised — ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know whether he has or not — but as sure 
as fate there they come,” and the old lady relapsed into her 
hysterics. 

“ Mother, mother, remember your duty as a Christian — 
remember in whom you have put your trust,” said Virginia, 
earnestly. 

“ Oh, yes, that’s the way. Of course I know nothing 
of my duty, and I don’t pretend to be as good as others. 
I am nothing but a poor, weak old woman, and must be 
reminded of my duty by my daughter, although I was a 
Christian long before she was born. But, for my part, I 
think it’s tempting Providence to bear such a judgment with 
so much indifference.” 

“But, Bessy,” interposed the Colonel, seeing Virginia 
was silent under this unusual kind of argument, “ your 
agitation will only make the matter worse. If you give 
way thus, we cannot be as ready and cool in action as we 
should. Come now, dear Bessy, calm yourself.” 

“ Oh, yes, it’s well to say that, after bringing me all the 
way into this wild country, to be devoured by these wild 
Indians. Oh, that I should ever have consented to leave 
my quiet home in dear old England for this 1 And all be- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


69 


cause a protector reigned instead of a king. Protector, 
forsooth ; I would rather have a hundred protectors at this 
moment than one king.” 

“ Father,” said Virginia, in a tremulous voice, “ had we 
not better retire to some other part of the house ? We can 
only incommode you here.” 

“ Right, my girl,” said her father. “ Take your mother 
up stairs into your room, and try and compose her.” 

“ Take me, indeed,” said his worthy spouse. “ Colonel 
Temple, you speak as if I was a baby, to be carried about as 
you choose. I assure you, I will not budge a foot from you.” 

“ Stay where you are then,” replied Temple, impatiently, 
“ and for God’s sake be calm. Ha ! now my boys — here 
they come 1” and a wild yell, which seemed to crack the very 
welkin, announced the appearance of the enemy. 

“ I think we had all better go to the upper windows,” 
said Hansford, calmly. “ There is nothing to be done by 
being shut up in this dark hall ; while there, protected from 
their arrows, we may do some damage to the enemy. If we 
remain, our only chance is to make a desperate sally, in 
which we would be almost certainly destroyed.” 

“ Mr. Hansford,” said Virginia, “ give me a gun — there 
is one left — and you shall see that a young girl, in an hour 
of peril like this, knows how to aid brave men in her own 
defence.” 

Hansford bent an admiring glance upon the heroic girl, 
as he placed the weapon in her hands, while her father said, 
with rapture, “ God bless you, my daughter. If your arm 
were strong as your heart is brave, you had been a hero. 
I retract what I said on yesterday,” he added-in a whisper, 
with a sad smile, “ for you have this day proved yourself 
worthy to be a brave man’s wife.” 

The suggestion of Hansford was readily agreed upon, 
and the little party were soon at their posts, shielded by the 
windows from the attack of the Indians, and yet in a posi- 


70 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


tion from wnich they could annoy the enemy considerably 
by their own fire. From his shelter there, Bernard, to 
whom the sight was entirely new, could see rushing towards 
the hall, a party of about twenty savages, painted in the 
horrible manner which they adopt to inspire terror in a foe, 
and attired in that strange wild costume, which is now 
familiar to every school-boy. Their leader, a tall, athletic 
young Indian, surpassed them all in the hideousness of his 
appearance. His closely shaven hair was adorned with a 
tall eagle's feather, and pendant from his ears were the 
rattles of the rattlesnake. The only garment which con- 
cealed his nakedness was a short smock, or apron, reaching 
from his waist nearly to his knees, and made of dressed deer 
skin, adorned with beads and shells. Around his neck and 
wrists were strings of peake and roanoke. His face was 
painted in the most horrible manner, with a ground of deep 
red, formed from the dye of the pocone root, and varie- 
gated with streaks of blue, yellow and green. Around his 
eyes were large circles of green paint. But to make his 
appearance still more hideous, feathers and hair were stuck 
all over his body, upon the fresh paint, which made the war- 
rior look far more like some wild beast of the forest than a 
human being. 

Brandishing a tomahawk in one hand, and holding a car- 
bine in the other, Manteo, thus disguised, led on his braves 
with loud yells towards the mansion of Colonel Temple. 
How different from the respectful demeanour, and more 
modest attire, in which he was accustomed to appear before 
the family of Windsor Hall. 

( To the great comfort of the inmates, his carbine was the 
only one in the party, thanks to the wise precaution of the 
Assembly, in restricting the sale of such deadly weapons to 
the Indians. His followers, arrayed in like horrible cos- 
tume with himself, followed on with their tomahawks and 
bows ; their arrows were secured in a quiver slung over the 


i 


T II E DEVOTED BRIDE. 71 

shoulder, which was formed of the skins of foxes and rac- 
coons, rendered more terrible by the head of the animal 
being left unsevered from the skin. To the loud shrieks and 
yells of their voices, was added the unearthly sound of their 
drums and rattles — the whole together forming a discordant 
medley, which, as brave old John Smith has well and 
quaintly observed, “ would rather affright than delight any 
man.” 

All this the besieged inmates of the hall saw with mingled 
feelings of astonishment and dread, awaiting with intense 
anxiety the result. 

“ Now be perfectly quiet,” said Hansford, in a low tone, 
for, by tacit consent, he was looked upon as the leader of 
the defence. “ The house being closed, they may conclude 
that the family are absent, and so, after their first burst 
of vengeance, retire. Their bark is always worse than their 
bite.” 

Such indeed seemed likely to be the case, for the Indians, 
arrived at the porch, looked around with some surprise at 
the barred doors and windows, and began to confer 
together. Whatever might have been the event of their 
conference, their actions, however, were materially affected 
by an incident which, though intended for the best, was 
well nigh resulting in destruction to the whole family. 


72 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER IX. 


u Like gun when aimed at duck or plover, 

Kicks back and knocks the shooter over.” 

There was at Windsor Hall, an old family servant, 
known alike to the negroes and the “ white folks, ” by the 
familiar appellation of Uncle Giles. He was one of those 
old-fashioned negroes, who having borne the heat and burden 
of the day, are turned out to live in comparative freedom, 
and supplied with everything that can make their declining 
years comfortable and happy. Uncle Giles, according to 
his own account, was sixty-four last Whitsuntide, and was 
consequently born in Africa. It is a singular fact con- 
nected with this race, that whenever consulted about their 
age, they invariably date the anniversary of their birth at 
Christmas, Easter or Whitsuntide, the triennial holydays to 
which they are entitled. Whether this arises from the fact 
that a life which is devoted to the service of others should 
commence with a holyday, or whether these three are the only 
epochs known, to the negro, is a question of some interest, 
but of little importance to our narrative. So it was, that 
old uncle Giles, in his own expressive phrase was, “ after 
wiking all his born days, done turn out to graze hisself to 
def.” The only business of the old man was to keep him- 
self comfortable in winter by the kitchen fire, and in summer 
to smoke his old corn-cob pipe on the three legged bench 
that stood at the kitchen door. Added to this, was the 
self-assumed duty of “ strapping” the young darkies, and 
lecturing the old ones on the importance of working hard, 
and obeying “ old massa,” cheerfully in everything. And 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


73 


so old uncle Giles, with white and black, with old and 
.young, but especially with old uncle Giles himself, was a 
great character. Among other things that increased his 
inordinate self-esteem, was the possession of a rusty old 
blunderbuss, which, long since discarded as useless by his 
master, had fallen into his hands, and was regarded by him 
and his sable admirers as a pearl of great price. 

Now it so happened, that on the morning to which our 
story refers, uncle Giles was quietly smoking his pipe, and 
muttering solemnly to himself in that grumbling tone so 
peculiar to old negroes. When he learned, however, of the 
intended attack of the Indians, the old man, who well 
remembered the earlier skirmishes with the savages, took 
his old blunderbuss from its. resting-place above the door of 
the kitchen, and prepared himself for action. The old gun, 
which owing to the growing infirmities of its possessor, had 
not been called into use for years, was now rusted from 
disuse and neglect ; and a bold spider had even dared to 
seek, not the bubble reputation, but his more substantial 
gossamer palace, at the very mouth of the barrel. Not- 
withstanding all this, the gun had all the time remained 
loaded, for Giles was too rigid an economist to waste a 
charge without some good reason. Armed with this for- 
midable weapon, Giles succeeded in climbing up the side 
of the low cabin kitchen, by the logs which protruded from 
either end of the wall. Arrived at the top and screening 
himself behind the rude log and mud chimney, he awaited 
with a patience and immobility which Wellington might 
have envied, the arrival of the foe. Here then he was 
quietly seated when the conference to which we have 
alluded took place between the Indian warriors. 

“Bird flown,” said Manteo, the leader of the party. 
“ Nest empty.” 

Two or three of the braves stooped down and began to 
examine the soft sandy soil to discover if there were any 


74 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


tracks or signs of the family having left. Fortunately the 
search seemed satisfactory, for the foot-prints of Bernard’s- 
and Hansford’s horses, as they were led from the house 
towards the stable on the previous evening, were still quite 
visible. 

This little circumstance seemed to determine the party, 
and they had turned away, probably to seek their vengeance 
elsewhere, or to return at a more propitious moment, when 
the discharge of a gun was heard, so loud, so crashing, and 
so alarming, that it seemed like the sudden rattling of 
thunder in a storm. 

Luckily, perhaps for all parties, while the shot fell 
through the poplar trees like the first big drops of rain in 
summer, the only damage which was done was in clipping 
off the feather which was worn by Manteo as a badge of 
his position. When we say this, however, we mean to 
refer only to the effect of the charge, not of the discharge 
of the gun, for the breech rebounding violently against old 
Giles shoulder, the poor fellow lost his balance and came 
tumbling to the ground. The cabin was fortunately not 
more than ten feet high, and our African hero escaped into 
the kitchen with a few bruises — a happy compromise for the 
fate which would have inevitably been his had he remained 
in his former position. The smoke of his fusil mingling 
with the smoke from the chimney, averted suspicion, and with 
the simple-minded creatures who heard the report and wit- 
nessed its effects the whole matter remained a mystery. 

“ Tunder, ” said one, looking round in vain for the source 
from which an attack could be made. 

“ Call dat tunder,” growled Manteo, pointing signifi- 
cantly to his moulted plume that lay on the ground. 

“ Okees* mad. Shoot Pawcussacksf from osies,”J said 
one of the older and more experienced of the party, 


* Gods. 


t Guns. 


t Iloaven. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 75 

endeavouring to give some rational explanation of so 
inexplicable a mystery. 

A violent dispute here arose between the different war- 
riors as to the cause of this sudden anger of the gods ; some 
contending that it was because they were attacking a 
Netoppew or friend, and others with equal zeal 'contending 
that it was to reprove the slowness of their vengeance. 

From their position above, all these proceedings could 
be seen, and these contentions heard by the besieged party. 
The mixed language in which the men spoke, for they had 
even thus early appropriated many English words to supply 
the deficiencies in their own barren tongue, was explained 
by Mamalis, where it was unintelligible to the whites. 
This young girl felt a divided interest in the fate of the 
besieging and besieged parties ; for all of her devotion to 
Yirgiuia Temple could not make her entirely forget the 
fortunes of her brave brother. 

In a few moments, she saw that it was necessary to take 
some decisive step, for the faction which was of harsher 
mood, and urged immediate vengeance, was seen to prevail 
in the conference. The fatal word “ fire” was several 
times heard, and Manteo was already starting towards the 
kitchen to procure the means of carrying into effect their 
deadly purpose. 

“I see nothing left, but to defend ourselves as we may,” 
said Hansford in a low voice, at the same time raising his 
musket, and advancing a step towards the window, with a 
view of throwing it open and commencing the attack. 

“ Oh, don’t shoot,” said Mamalis, imploringly, “ I will go 
and save all.” 

“ Do you think, my poor girl, that they will hearken to 
mercy at your intercession,” said Colonel Temple, shaking 
his head, sorrowfully.” 

“No !” replied Mamalis, “ the heart of a brave knows not 
mercy. If he gave his ear to the cry of mercy, he would 


76 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


be a squaw and not a brave. But fear not, I can yet save 
you,” she added confidently, “oniy do not be seen.” 

The men looked from one to the other to decide. 

“ Trust her, father,” said Virginia, “ if you are discovered 
blood must be shed. She says she can save us all. Trust 
her, Hansford. Trust her, Mr. Bernard.” 

“We could lose little by being betrayed at this stage of 
the game,” said Temple, “ so go, my good girl, and Heaven 
will bless you !” 

Quick as thought the young Indian left the room, and 
descended the stairs. Drawing the bolt of the back door 
so softly, that she scarcely heard it move, herself, she went 
to the kitchen, where old Giles, a prey to a thousand fears, 
was seated trembling over the fire, his face of that peculiar 
ashy hue, which the negro complexion sometimes assumes 
as an humble apology for pallor. As she touched the old 
man on the shoulder, he groaned in despair and looked up, 
showing scarcely anything but the whites of his eyes, while 
his woolly head, thinned and white with age, resembled ashes 
sprinkled over a bed of extinguished charcoal. Seeing the 
face of an Indian, and too terrified to recognize Mamalis, 
he fell on his knees at her feet, and cried, 

“ Oh, for de Lord sake, massa/ pity de poor old nigger ! 
My lod a messy, massa, I neber shoot anudder gun in all 
my born days.” 

“Hush,” said Mamalis, “and listen to me. I tell lie, 
you say it is truth ; I say whites in Jamestown ; you say 
so too — went yesterday.” 

“But bress your soul, missis,” said Giles, “ sposen dey ax 
me ef I shot dat cussed gun, me say dat truf too ?” 

“ No, say it was thunder.” 

At this moment the tall dark form of Manteo entered 
the room. He started with surprise, as he saw his sister 
there, and in such company. His dark eye darted a fierce 
glance at Giles, who quailed beneath its glare. Then 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 77 

turning again to his sister, he said in the Indian tongue, 
which we freely translate : 

“ Mamalis with the white man 1 where is he that I may 
drown my vengeance in his blood.” 

“ He is gone ; he is not within the power of Manteo. 
Manitou* has saved Manteo from the crime of killing his 
best friend.” 

“ His people have killed my people for the offence of the 
few, I will kill him for the cruelty of many. For this is 
the calumetf broken. For this is the tree of peace! cut 
down by the tomahawk of war.” 

“ Say hot so,” replied Mamalis. “ Temple is the netop- 
pew§ of Manteo. He is even now r gone to the grand 
sachem of the long knives, to make Manteo the Werowance|| 
of the Pamunkeys.” 

“ Ha ! is this true ?” asked Manteo, anxiously. 

“ Ask this old man,” returned Mamalis. “ They all went 
to Jamestown yesterday, did they not ?” she asked in Eng- 
lish of Giles, who replied, in a trembling voice, 

“ Yes, my massa, dey has all gone to Jimson on yestiddy.” 

“ And I a Werowance !” said the young man proudly, in 
his own language. “ Spirits of Powhatan and Opechan- 
canough, the name of Manteo shall live immortally as 
yours. His glory shall be the song of our race, and the 
young men of his tribe shall emulate his deeds. His life 
shall be brilliant as the sun’s bright course, and his spirit 
shall set in the spirit land, bright with unfading glory.” 

Then turning away with a lofty step, he proceeded to 
rejoin his companions. 

* The good spirit of the Indians. f The pipe of peace. 

J When a peace was concluded a tree was planted, and the contracting 
parties declared that the peace should be as long lived as the tree. 

$ The friend or benefactor. 

|| The Werowance, or chief of a tribe, was appointed by the Governor, 
and this mode of appointment gave great dissatisfaction to the Indians. 


78 


the devoted bride. 


The stratagem was successful, and Manteo, the bravest 
the noblest of the braves, succeeded after some time in per- 
suading them to desist from their destructive designs. In 
a few moments, to the delight of the little besieged party, 
the Indians had left the house, and were soon buried in the 
deep forest. 

“ Thanks, my brave, generous girl,” said Temple, as 
Mamalis, after the success of her adventure, entered the 
room. “ To your presence of mind we owe our lives.” 

“ But I told a lie,” said the girl, looking down ; “ I said 
you had gone to make Manteo the Werowance of the 
Pamunkeys.” 

“ Well, my girl, he shall not want my aid in getting the 
office. So you, in effect, told the truth.” 

“ No, no ; I said you had gone. It was a lie.” 

“ Ah, but, Mamalis,” said Virginia, in an encouraging 
voice, for she had often impressed upon the mind of the 
poor savage girl the nature of a lie, “when a falsehood is 
told for the preservation of life, the sin will be freely for- 
given which has accomplished so much good.” 

“Ignatius Loyola could not have stated his favourite prin- 
ciple more clearly, Miss Temple,” said Bernard, with a 
satirical smile. “ I see that the Reformation has not made 
so wide a difference in the two Churches, after all.” 

“ No, Mr. Bernard,” said old Temple, somewhat offended 
at the young man’s tone ; “ the stratagem of the soldier, 
and the intrigue of the treacherous Jesuit, are very different. 
The one is the means which brave men may use to accom- 
plish noble ends ; the other is the wily machinations of a 
perfidious man to attain his own base purposes. The one 
is the skilful fence and foil of the swordsman, the other the 
subtle and deceitful design of the sneaking snake.” 

“ Still they both do what is plainly a deception, in order 
to accomplish an end which they each believe -to be good. 
Once break down the barrier to the field of truth, and it is 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 79 

impossible any longer to distinguish between virtue and 
error.” 

* “ Well,” said Mrs. Temple, “ I am the last to blame the 
bridge which carries me over, and I’ll warrant there is not 
one here, man or woman, who isn’t glad that our lives have 
been saved by Mamalis’s falsehood — for I have not had such 
a fright iu all my days.” 


CHAPTER X. 


“ Religion, *tis that doth distinguish us 
From their bruit humour, well we may it know, 

That can with understanding argue thus, 

Our God is truth, but they cannot do so.” 1 

/ Smith’s History. 

As may be well imagined, the Indian attack formed the 
chief topic of conversation at Windsor Hall during the 
day. Many were the marvellous- stories which were called 
to memory, of Indian warfare and of Indian massacres — of 
the sad fate of those who had been their victims, the tortures 
to which their prisoners had been subjected, and the relent- 
less cruelty with which even the tender babe, while smiling 
in the face of its ruthless murderer, was dashed pitilessly 
against a tree. Among these narratives, the most painful 
was that detailing the fete of George Cassen, who, tied to 
a tree by strong cords, was doomed to see his flesh and 
joints cut off, one by one, and roasted before his eyes ; his 
head and face flayed with sharp mussel shells, and his belly 
ripped open ; until at last, in the extremity of his agony, he 


80 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


welcomed the very flames which consumed him, and rescued 
his body from their cruelty.* 

Uncle Giles, whose premature action had so nearly ruined 
them all, and yet had probably been the cause of their ulti- 
mate safety, was the hero of the day, and loud was the 
laugh at the incident of the gun and kitchen chimney. The 
old man’s bruises were soon tended and healed, arid the 
grateful creature declared that “ Miss Ginny’s lineaments 
always did him more good than all the doctors in the 
world and in truth they were good for sore eyes. 

It was during the morning’s conversation that Bernard 
learned from his host, and from Yirginia, the intimate rela- 
tions existing between Mamalis and the family at Windsor 
Hall. Many years before, there had been, about two miles 
from the hall, an Indian village, inhabited by some of the 
tribe of the Pamunkeys. Among them was an old chieftain 
named Nantaquaus,f who claimed to be of the same lineage 
as Powhatan, and who, worn out with war, now resided 
among his people as their patriarchal counsellor. In the 
hostilities which had existed before the long peace, 'which 
was only ended by the difficulties that gave rise to Bacon’s 
Rebellion, the whole of the inhabitants of the little village 
had been cut off by the whites, with the exception of this 
old patriarch and his two orphan grand-children, who were 
saved through the interposition of Colonel Temple, exerted 
in their behalf on account of some kindness he had received 
at their hands. Grateful for the life of his little descendants, 
for he had long since ceased to care for the prolongation of 
his own existence, old Nantaquaus continued to live on 
terms approaching even to intimacy with the Temples. 
When at length he died, he bequeathed his grand-children 

* Fact. 

•f This was also the name of the only son of the great Powhatan, as 
appears by John Smith's letter to the Queen, introducing the Princess 
Pocahontas. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


81 


to the care of his protector. It was his wish, however, that 
they should still remain in the old wigwam where he had 
lived, and where they could best remember him, and, in 
visions, visit his spirit in the far hunting ground. In com- 
pliance with this, his last wish, Manteo and Mamalis con- 
tinued their residence in that rude old hut, and secured a 
comfortable subsistence — he by fishing and the chase, and 
she by the cultivation of their little patch of ground, where 
maize, melons, pompions, cushaus, and the like, rewarded 
her patient labour with their abundant growth. Besides 
these duties, to which the life of the Indian woman was 
devoted, the young girl in her leisure moments, and in the 
long winter, made, with pretty skill, mats, baskets and san- 
dals, weaving the former curiously with the long willow 
twigs which grew along the banks of the neighbouring York 
river, and forming the latter with dressed deer skin, orna- 
mented with flowers made of beads and shells, or with the 
various coloured feathers of the birds. Her little manu- 
factures met with a ready sale at the hall, being exchanged 
for sugar and coffee, and other such comforts as civilization 
provides ; and for the sale of the excess of these simple 
articles over the home demand, she found a willing agent 
in the Colonel, who, in his frequent visits to Jamestown, 
disposed of them to advantage. 

Despite these associations, however, Manteo retained 
much of the original character of his race, and the wild 
forest life which he led, bringing him into communication 
with the less civilized members of his tribe, helped to cherish 
the native fierceness of his temper. Clinging with tenacity 
to the superstitions and pursuits of his fathers, his mind 
was of that sterile soil, in which the seeds of civilization 
take but little root. His sister, without having herself lost 
all the peculiar features of her natural character, was still 
formed in a different mould, and her softer nature had 
already received some slight impress from Yirginia’s teach- 
5 


82 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE 


ings, which led her by slow but certain degrees towards the 
truth. His was of that fierce, tiger nature, which Horace 
has so finely painted in his nervous description of Achilles, 

u Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer !” 

W’hile her’s can be best understood by her name, Mamalis, 
which, signifying in her own language a young fawn, at once 
expressed the grace of her person and the gentleness of her 
nature. 

Such is a brief but sufficient description of the characters 
and condition of these two young Indians, who play an 
important part in this narrative. The description, we may 
well suppose, derived additional interest to Bernard, from 
its association with the recent exciting scene, and from the 
interest which his heart began already to entertain for the 
fair narrator. 

But probably the most amusing, if not the most instruc- 
tive portion of the morning’s conversation, was that in 
which Mrs. Temple bore a conspicuous part. The danger 
being past, the good woman adverted with much pride to 
the calmness and fortitude which she had displayed during 
the latter part of the trying scene. She never suspected 
that her conduct had been at all open to criticism, for in 
the excess of her agitation, she had not been aware, either 
of her manner or her language. 

“ The fact is, gentlemen,” she said, “that while you all 
displayed great coolness and resolution, it was well that 
you were not surrounded by timid women to embarrass you 
with their fears. I was determined that none of you should 
see my alarm, and I have no doubt you were surprised at 
my calmness.” 

“ It was very natural for ladies to feel alarm,” said 
Hansford, scarcely able to repress the rising smile, “ under 
circumstances, which inspired even strong men with fear. 
I only wonder that you bore it so well. ” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 83 

“ Ah, it is easy to see yon are apologizing for Virginia, 
and I must confess that once or twice she did almost shake 
my self-possession a little by her agitation. But poor 
thing I we should make allowance for her. She is unac- 
customed to such scenes. I, who was, you may say, 
cradled in a revolution, and brought up in civil war, am 
not so easily frightened. ” 

“No, indeed, Bessy,” said old Temple, smiling good 
humouredly, “ so entirely were you free from the prevailing 
fears, that I believe you were unconscious half the time of 
what was going on.” 

“Well, really, Colonel Temple,” said the old lady, 
bristling up at this insinuation, “ I think it ill becomes you 
to be exposing me as a jest before an entire stranger. 
However, it makes but little difference. It won’t last 
always.” 

This prediction of his good wife, that “ It,” which always 
referred to her husband’s conduct immediately before, was 
doomed like all other earthly things to terminate, was 
generally a precursor to hysterics. And so she shook her 
head and patted her foot hysterically, while the Colonel 
wholly unconscious of any reasonable cause for the offence 
he had given, rolled up his eyes and shrugged his shoulders 
in silence. 

Leaving the good couple to settle at their leisure those 
little disputes which never lasted on an average more than 
five minutes, let us follow Virginia as she goes down stairs 
to make some preparation for dinner. As she passed 
through the hall on her way to the store-room, she saw the 
graceful form of Mamalis just leaving the house. In the 
conversation which ensued we must beg the reader to 
imagine the broken English in which the young Indian 
expressed herself, while we endeavor to give it a free and 
more polite translation. 


84 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ Mamalis, you are not going home already, are you,* 
said Virginia, in a gentle voice. 

“Yes,” replied the girl, with a sigh. 

“ Why do you sigh, Mamalis ? Are you unhappy, my 
poor girl ?” 

“ It is very sad to be alone in my poor wigwam,” she 
replied. 

“ Then stay with us, Manteo is away, and will probably 
not be back for some days.” 

“ He would be angry if he came home and found me 
away.” 

“ Oh, my poor girl,” said Virginia, taking her tenderly 
by the hand, “ I wish you could stay with me, and let me 
teach you as I used to about God and heaven. Oh, think 
of these things, Mamalis, and they will make you happy 
even when alone. Wouldn’t you like to have a friend 
always near you when Manteo is away ?” 

“ Oh yes,” said the girl earnestly. 

“Well, there is just such a Friend who will never desert 
you ; who is ever near to protect you in danger, and to 
comfort you in distress. Whose eye is never closed in 
sleep, and whose thoughts are never wandering from his 
charge.” 

“ That cannot be,” said the young Indian, incredulously. 

“Yes, it both can be and is so,” returned her friend. 
“ One who has promised, that if we trust in him he will 
never leave us nor forsake us. That friend is the powerful 
Son of God, and the loving Brother of sinful man. One 
who died to show his love, and who lives to show his 
power to protect. It is Jesus Christ.” 

“You told me about him long ago,” said Mamalis, 
shaking her head, “ but I never saw him. He never comes 
to Manteo’s wigwam.” 

“Nay, but He is still your friend,” urged Virginia ear- 
nestly. “When you left the room this morning on that 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 85 

work of mercy to save us all, I did not see you, and yet I 
told my father that I knew you would do us good. Were 
you less my friend because I didn’t see you ? 

“No.” 

“No,” continued Virginia, “you were more my friend, 
for if you had remained with me, we might all have been 
lost. And so Jesus has but withdrawn Himself from our 
eyes that He may intercede with his offended father, as you 
did with Manteo.” 

“ Does he tell lies for us ?” said the girl with artless sim- 
plicity, and still remembering her interview with her 
brother. Virginia felt a thrill of horror pass through her 
heart as she heard such language, but remembering the 
ignorance of her poor blinded pupil, she proceeded. 

“ Oh ! Mamalis, do not talk thus. He of whom I speak 
is not as we are, and cannot commit a sin. But while He 
cannot commit sin Himself, He can die for the sins of 
others.” 

“ Well,” said the poor girl, seeing that she had unwit- 
tingly hurt the feelings of her friend, “ I don’t understand 
all that. Your God is so high, mine I can see and under- 
stand. But you love your God, I only fear mine.” 

“ And do you not believe that God is good, my poor 
friend ?” said Virginia, with a sigh. 

“ From Manitou all good proceeds,” replied Mamalis, as 
with beautiful simplicity she thus detailed her simple creed, 
which she had been taught by her fathers. “ From him is 
life, and joy, and love. The blue sky is his home, and the 
green earth he has made for his pleasure. The fresh 
smelling flowers and the pure air are his breath, and the 
sweet music of the wind through the woods is his voice. 
The stars that he has sown through heaven, are the pure 
shells which he has picked up by the rivers which flow 
through the spirit land ; and the sun is his chariot, with 
which he drives through heaven, while he smiles upon the 


86 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

world. Such is Manitou, whose very life is the good 
giving ; the bliss-bestowing.” 

“ My sweet Mamalis,” said Virginia, “you have, indeed, 
in your ignorance, painted a beautiful picture of the benefi- 
cence of God. And can you not — do you not thank this 
Giver of every good and perfect gift for all his mercies. ” 

“ I cannot thank him for that which he must bestow,” 
said the girl. “We do not thank the flower because its 
scent is sweet ; nor the birds that fill the woods with their 
songs, because their music is grateful to the ear. Manitou 
is made to be adored, not to be thanked, for his very 
essence is good, and his very breath is love.” 

“ But remember, my friend, that the voice of this Great 
Spirit is heard in the thunder, as well as in the breeze, and 
his face is revealed in the lightning as well as in the flower. 
He is the author of evil as well as of good, and should we 
not pray that He would avert the first, even if He heed not 
our prayer to bestow the last.” 

If Virginia was shocked by the sentiments of her pupil 
before, Mamalis was now as much so. Such an idea as 
ascribing evil to the great Spirit of the Universe, never 
entered the mind of the young savage, and now that she 
first heard it, she looked upon it as little less than open 
profanity. 

“Manitou is not heard in the thunder nor seen in the 
lightning,” she replied. “ It is Okee whose fury against 
us is aroused, and who thus turns blessings into curses, 
and good into evil. To him we pray that he look not 
upon us with a frown, nor withhold the mercies that flow 
from Manitou ; that the rains may fall upon our maize, and 
the %un may ripen it in the full ear ; that he send the fat 
wild deer across my brother’s path, and ride on his arrow 
until it reach its heart ; that he direct the grand council in 
wisdom, and guide the tomahawk in its aim in battle. But 
I have tarried too long, my brother may await my coming.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


87 


“ Nay, but you shall not go — at least,” said Virginia, 
“ without something for your trouble. You have nearly 
lost a day, already. And come often and see me, Mamalis, 
and we will speak of these things again. I will teach you 
that your Manitou is good, as well as the author of good ; 
and that he is love, as well as the fountain of love in others ; 
that it is to him we should pray and in whom we should 
trust, and he will lead us safely through all our trials in 
this life, and take us to a purer spirit land than that of 
which you dream.” 

Mamalis shook her head, but promised she would come. 
Then loading her with such things as she thought she 
stood in need of, and which the poor girl but seldom met 
with, except from the same kind hand, Virginia bid her 
God speed, and they parted ; Mamalis to her desolate 
wigwam, and Virginia to her labours in the household 
affairs, which had devolved upon her. * 

* In the foregoing scene the language of Mamalis has been purposely 
rendered more pure than as it fell from her lips, because thus it was better 
suited to the dignity of her theme. As for the creed itself, it is taken 
from so many sources, that it would be impossible, even if desirable, to 
quote any authorities. The statements of Smith and Beverley, are, how- 
ever, chiefly relied upon. 


88 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 

And join with men in scorning your poor friend.” 

Midsummer Nights Dream, 

While Virginia was thus engaged, she was surprised by 
hearing a light step behind her, and looking up she saw 
Hansford pale and agitated, standing in the room. 

“ What in the world is the matter ?” she cried, alarmed 
at his appearance ; “ have the Indians — ” 

“ No, dearest, the Indians are far away ere this. But 
alas ! there are other enemies to our peace than they.” 

“What do you mean ?” she said, “ speak 1 why do you 
thus agitate me by withholding what you would say.” 

“My dear Virginia,” replied her lover, “do you not 
remember that I told you last night that I had something 
to communicate, which would surprise and grieve you. I 
cannot expect you to understand or appreciate fully my 
motives. But you can at least hear me patiently, and by 
the memory of our love, by the sacred seal of our plighted 
troth, I beg you to hear me with indulgence, if not for- 
giveness.” 

“ There are but few things, Hansford, that you could 
do,” said Virginia, gravely, “ that love would not teach me 
to forgivq. Go on. I hear you patiently.” 

“ My story will be brief,” said Hansford, “ although it 
may involve sad consequences to me. I need only say, that 
I have felt the oppressions of the government, under which 
the colony is groaning ; I have witnessed the duplicity and 
perfidy of Sir William Berkeley, and I have determined 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 89 

with the arm and heart of a man, to maintain the rights 
of a man.” 

H What oppressions, what perfidy, what rights, do you 
mean ?” said Virginia, turning pale with apprehension. 

“You can scarcely understand those questions dearest. 
But do you not know that the temporizing policy, the 
criminal delay of Berkeley, has already made the blood of 
Englishmen flow by the hand of savages. Even the agony 
which you this morning suffered, is due to the indirect 
encouragement given to the Indians by his fatal in- 
dulgence.” 

“And you have proved false to your country,” cried 
Virginia. “Oh! Hansford, for the sake of your honour, 
for the sake of your love, unsay the word which stains your 
soul with treason.” 

“Nay, my own Virginia, understand me. I maybe a 
rebel to my king. I may almost sacrifice my love, but I 
am true, ever true to my country. The day has passed, 
Virginia, when that word was so restricted in its meaning 
as to be confounded with the erring mortal, who should be 
its minister and not its tyrant. The blood of Charles the 
First has mingled with the blood of those brave martyrs 
who perished for liberty, and has thus cemented the true 
union between a prince and his people. It has given to 
the world, that useful lesson, that the sovereign is invested 
with his power, to protect, and not to destroy the rights 
of his people ; that freemen may be restrained by whole- 
some laws, but that they are freemen still. That lesson, 
Sir William Berkeley must yet be taught. The patriot who 
dares to teach him, is at last, the truest lover of his 
country.” 

“ I scarcely know what you say,” said the young girl, 
weeping, “but tell me, oh, tell me, have you joined your 
fortunes with a rebel ?” 

“If thus you choose to term him who loves freedom 


90 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


better than chains, who would rather sacrifice life itself 
than to drag out a weary existence beneath the galling 
yoke of oppression, I have. I know you blame me. I 
know you hate me now,” he added, in a sad voice, “ but 
while it was my duty, as a freeman and a patriot, to act 
thus, it was also my duty, as an honourable man, to tell 
you all. You remember the last lines of our favourite 
song, 


u I had not loved thee dear, so much, 

Loved I not honour more.” 

“Alas! I remember the words but too well,” replied 
Virginia, sadly, “ but I had been taught that the honour 
there spoken of, was loyalty to a king, not treason. Oh, 
Hansford, forgive me, but how can I, reared as I have 
been, with such a father, how can I” — she hesitated, unable 
to complete the fatal sentence. 

“I understand you,” said Hansford. “But one thing 
then remains undone. The proscribed rebel must be an 
outlaw to Virginia Temple’s heart. The trial is a sore 
one, but even this sacrifice can I make to my beloved 
country. Thus then I give you back your troth. Take 
it — take it,” he cried, and with one hand covering his eyes, 
he seemed with the other to tear from his heart some trea- 
sured jewel that refused to yield its place. 

The violence of his manner, even more than the fatal 
words he had spoken, alarmed Virginia, and with a wild 
scream, that rang through the old hall, she threw herself 
fainting upon his neck. The noise reached the ears of the 
party, who remained above stairs, and Colonel Temple, his 
wife, and Bernard, threw open the door and stood for a 
moment silent spectators of the solemn scene. There stood 
Hansford, his eye lit up with excitement, his face white as 
ashes, and his strong arm supporting the trembling form 
of the young girl, while with his other hand he was chafing 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 91 

her white temples, and smoothing back the long golden 
tresses that had fallen dishevelled over her face. 

“ My child, my child,’’ shrieked her mother, who was the 
first to speak, “ what on earth is the matter ?” 

“ Yes, Hansford, in the devil’s name, what is to pay ?” 
said the old colonel. “Why, Jeanie,” he added, taking 
the fair girl tenderly in his arms, “you are not half the 
heroine you were when the Indians were here. There 
now, that’s a sweet girl, open your blue eyes and tell old 
father what is the matter.” 

“Nothing, dear father,” said Yirginia, faintly, as she 
slowly opened her eyes. “ I have been very foolish, 
that’s all.” 

“Nay, Jeanie, it takes more than nothing or folly to 
steal the bloom away from these rosy cheeks.” 

“ Perhaps the young gentleman can explain more easily,” 
said Bernard, fixing his keen eyes on his rival. “ A little 
struggle, perhaps, between love and loyalty.” 

“ Mr. Bernard, with all his shrewdness, would probably 
profit by the reflection,” said Hansford, coldly, “ that as a 
stranger here, his opinions upon a matter of purely family 
concern, are both unwelcome and impertinent.” 

“ May be so,” replied Bernard with a sneer ; “ but 
scarcely more unwelcome than the gross and continued 
deception practised by yourself towards those who have 
honoured you with their confidence.” 

* Hansford, stung by the remark, laid his hand upon his 
sword, but was withheld by Colonel Temple, who cried out 
with impatience, 

“ Why, what the devil do you mean ? Zounds, it seems 
to me that my house is bewitched to-day. First those 
cursed Indians, with their infernal yells, threatening death 
and destruction to all and sundry ; then my daughter here, 
playing the fool before my face, according to her own con- 
fession ; and lastly, a couple of forward boys picking a 


92 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


quarrel with one another after a few hours’ acquaintance. 
Damn it, Tom, you were wont to have a plain tongue in 
your head. Tell me, what is the matter ?” 

“My kind old friend,” said Hansford, with a tremulous 
voice, “ I would fain have reserved for your private ear, an 
explanation which is now rendered necessary by that inso- 
lent minion, whose impertinence had already received the 
chastisement it deserves, but for an unfortunate interrup- 
tion.” 

“Hay, Tom,” said the Colonel, “no harsh words. 
Remember this young man is my guest, and as such, enti- 
tled to respect from all under my roof.” 

“Well then, sir,” continued Hansford, “this young 
lady’s agitation was caused by the fact that I have lately 
pursued a course, which, while I believe it to be just and 
honourable, I fear will meet with but little favour in your 
eyes.” 

“ As much in the dark as ever,” said the Colonel, per- 
plexed beyond measure, for his esteem for Hansford pre- 
vented him from suspecting the true cause of his daughter’s 
disquiet. Damn it, man, Davus sum non (Edipus. Speak 
out plainly, and if your conduct has been, as you say, con- 
sistent with your honour, trust to an old friend to forgive 
you. Zounds, boy, I have been young myself, and can 
make allowance for the waywardness of youth. Been 
gaming a little too high, hey ; well, the rest* was not so 
low in my day, but that I can excuse that, if you didn’t 
‘pull down the side.’”f 

“ I would fain do the young man a service, for I bear 
him no ill-will, though he has treated me a little harshly,” 
said Bernard, as he saw Hansford silently endeavouring to 
frame a reply in the most favourable terms, “ I see he is 

* Rest was the prescribed limit to the size of the venture, 
t To pull down the side was a technical term with our ancestors for 
cheating. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


93 


ashamed of his cause, and well he may be ; for you must 
know that he has become a great man of late, and has 
linked his fate to a certain Nathaniel Bacon.” 

The old loyalist started as he heard this unexpected 
announcement, then with a deep sigh, which seemed to 
come from his very soul, he turned to Hansford and said, 
“ My boy, deny the foul charge ; say it is not so.” 

“ It is, indeed, true,” replied Hansford, mournfully, “ but 
when — ” 

“ But when the devil I” cried the old man, bursting into 
a fit of rage ; “ and you expect me to stand here and listen 
to your justification. Zounds, sir, I would feel like a traitor 
myself to hear you speak. And this is the serpent that I 
have warmed and cherished at my hearthstone. Out of my 
house, sir I” 

“ To think,” chimed in Mrs. Temple, for once agreeing 
fully with her husband, “ how near our family, that has 
always prided itself on its loyalty, was being allied to a 
traitor. But he shall never marry Virginia, I vow.” 

“No, by God,” said the enraged loyalist; “she should 
rot in her grave first.” 

“ Miss Temple is already released from her engagement,” 
said Hansford, recovering his calmness in proportion as the 
other party lost their’s. “ She is free to choose for her- 
self, sir.” 

“ And that choice shall never light on you, apostate,” 
cried Temple, “ unless she would bring my grey hairs in 
sorrow to the grave.” 

“ And mine, too,” said the old lady, beginning to weep. 

“ I will not trouble you longer with my presence,” said 
Hansford, proudly, “ except to thank you for past kindness, 
which I can never forget. Farewell, Colonel Temple, I 
respect your prejudices, though they have led you to curse 
me. Farewell, Mrs. Temple, I will ever think of your 
generous hospitality with gratitude. Farewell, Virginia, 


94 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


forget that such a being as Thomas Hansford ever darkened 
your path through life, and think of our past love as a 
dream. I can bear your forgetfulness, but not your hate. 
For you, sir,” he added, turning to Alfred Bernard, “let 
me hope that we will meet again, where no interruption will 
prevent our final separation.” 

With these words, Hansford, his form proudly erect, but 
his heart bowed down with sorrow, slowly left the house. 

“ Are you not a Justice of the Peace ?” asked Bernard, 
with a meaning look. 

“ And what is that to you, sir ?” replied the old man, sus- 
pecting the design of the question. 

“ Only, sir, that as such it is your sworn duty to arrest 
that traitor. I know it is painful, but still it is your duty.” 

“ And who the devil told you to come and teach me my 
duty, sir ?” said the old man, wrathfully. “ Let me tell 
you, sir, that Tom Hansford, with all his faults, is a d — d 
sight better than a great many who are free from the stain 
of rebellion. Rebellion! — oh, my God! — poor, poor 
Tom.” 

“ Hay, then, sir,” said Bernard, meekly, “I beg your par- 
don. I only felt it my duty to remind you of what yon 
might have forgotten. God forbid that I should wish to 
endanger the life of a poor young man, whose only fault 
may be that he was too easily led away by others.” 

“You are right, by God,” said the Colonel, quickly. 
“ He is the victim of designing men, and yet I never said a 
word to reclaim him. Oh, I have acted basely and 
not like a friend. I will go now and bring him back, 
wife ; though if he don’t repent — zounds ! — neither will I ; 
no, not for a million friends.” 

So saying, the noble-hearted old loyalist, whose impul- 
sive nature was as prompt to redeem as to commit an error, 
started from the room to reclaim his lost boy. It was too 
late. Hansford, anticipating the result of the fatal revela- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


95 


tion, had ordered his horse even before his first interview 
with Virginia. The old Colonel only succeeded in catch- 
• ing a glimpse of him from the porch, as at a full gallop he 
disappeared through the forest. ” 

With a heavy sigh he returned to the study, there to meet 
with the consolations of his good wife, which were contained 
in the following words : 

“ Well, I hope and trust he is gone, and will never darken 
our doors again. You know, my dear, I always told you 
that you were wrong about that young man, Hansford. 
There always seemed to be a lack of frankness and openness 
in his character, and although I do not like to interpose my 
objections, yet I never altogether approved of the match. 
You know I always told you so.” 

“ Told the devil 1” cried the old man, goaded to the very 
verge of despair by this new torture. “ I beg your pardon, 
Bessy, for speaking so hastily, but, damn it, if all the angels 
in Heaven had told me that Tom Hansford could prove a 
traitor, I would not have believed it.” 

And how felt she, that wounded, trusting one, who thus 
in a short day had seen the hopes and dreams of happiness, 
which fancy had woven in her young heart, all rudely 
swept away ! ’Twere wrong to lift the veil from that poor 
stricken heart, now torn with grief too deep for words — too 
deep, alas 1 for tears. With her cheek resting on her white 
hand, she gazed tearlessly, but vacantly, towards the forest 
where he had so lately vanished as a dream. To those who 
spoke to her, she answered sadly in monosyllables, and then 
turned her head away, as if it were still sweet to cherish 
thus the agony which consumed her. But the bitterest drop 
in all this cup of woe, was the self-reproach which mingled 
with her recollection of that sad scene. When he had 
frankly given back her troth, she, alas ! had not stayed his 
hand, nor by a word had told him how truly, even in his 
guilt, her heart was his. And now, she thought, when 


96 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


thus driven harshly into the cold world, his only friends 
among the enemies to truth, his enemies its friends, how one 
little word of love, or even of pity, might have redeemed 
him from error, or at least have cheered him in his dark 
career. 

But bear up bravely, sweet one ; for heavier, darker sor- 
rows yet must cast their shadows on thy young heart, ere 
yet its warm pulsations cease to beat, and it be laid at 
rest. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ Wounded in both my honour and my love ; 

They have pierced me in two tender parts. 

Yet, could I take my just revenge, 

It would in some degree assuage my smart.” 

Vanbrugh. 

It was at an early hour on the following morning that 
the queer old chariot of Colonel Temple — one of the few, 
by the way, which wealth had as yet introduced into the 
colony — was drawn up before the door. The two horses 
of the gentlemen were standing ready saddled and bridled, 
in the care of the hostler. In a few moments, the ladies, 
all dressed for the journey, and the gentlemen, with their 
heavy spurs, long, clanging swords, and each with a pair 
of horseman’s pistols, issued from the house into the yard. 
The old lady, declaring that they were too late, and that, 
if her advice had been taken, they would have been half 
way to Jamestown, was the first to get into the carriage, 
armed with a huge basket of bread, beef’s tongue, cold 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


97 


liam and jerked venison, which was to supply the place of 
dinner on the road. Virginia, pale and sad, but almost 
happy at any change from scenes where every object brought 
up some recollection of the banished Hansford, followed her 
mother ; and the large trunk having been strapped securely 
behind the carriage, and the band-box, containing the old 
lady’s tire for the ball and other light articles of dress, 
having been secured, the little party were soon in motion. 

The hope and joy with which Virginia had looked forward 
to this trip to Jamestown had been much enhanced by the 
certainty that Hansford would be there. With the joyous- 
ness of her girlish heart, she had pictured to herself the 
scene of pleasure and festivity which awaited her. The 
Lady Frances’ birthday, always celebrated at the palace 
with the voice of music and the graceful dance — with the 
presence of the noblest cavaliers from all parts of the 
colony, and the smiles of the fairest damsels who lighted 
the society of the Old Dominion — was this year to be cele- 
brated with unusual festivities. But, alas! how changed 
were the feelings of Virginia now ! — how blighted were the 
hopes which had blossomed in her heart ! 

Their road lay for the most part through a beautiful 
forest, where the tall poplar, the hickory, the oak and the 
chestnut were all indigenous, and formed an avenue shaded 
by their broad branches from the intense rays of the sum- 
mer sun. Now and then the horses were startled at the 
sudden appearance of some fairy-footed deer, as it bounded 
lightly but swiftly through the woods ; or at the sudden 
whirring of the startled pheasant, as she flew from their 
approach ; or the jealous gobble of the stately turkey, as 
he led his strutting dames into his thicket-harem. The 
nimble grey squirrel, too, chattered away saucily in his high 
leafy nest, secure from attack from his very insignificance. 
Birds innumerable were seen flitting from branch to branch, 
and tuning their mellow voices as choristers in this forest- 
6 


98 


the devoted bride. 


temple of Nature. The song of the thrush and the red- 
bird came sweetly from the willows, whose weeping branches 
overhung the neighbouring banks of a broad stream ; the 
distant dove joined her mournful melody to their cheerful 
notes, and the woodpecker, on the blasted trunk of some 
stricken oak, tapped his rude bass in unison with the happy 
choir of the forest. 

All this Virginia saw and heard, and felt — yes, felt it all 
as a bitter mockery : as if, in these joyous bursts from the 
big heart of Nature, she were coldly regardless of the sor- 
rows of those, her children, who had sought their happiness 
apart; as though the avenging Creator had given man 
naught but the bitter fruit of that fatal tree of knowledge, 
while he lavished with profusion on all the rest of his 
creation the choicest fruits that flourished in His paradise. 

In vain did Bernard, with his soft and winning voice, 
point out these beauties to Virginia. In vain, with all the 
rich stores of his gifted mind, did he seek to alienate her 
thoughts from the one subject that engrossed them. She 
scarcely heard what he said, and when at length urged by 
the impatient nudges of her mother to answer, she showed 
by her absence of mind how faint had been the impression 
which he made. A thousand fears for the safety of her 
lover mingled with her thoughts. Travelling alone in that 
wild country, with hostile Indians infesting the colony, what, 
alas ! might be his fate ! Or even if he should escape 
these dangers, still, in open arms against his government, 
proclaimed a rebel by the Governor, a more horrible des- 
tiny might await him. And then the overwhelming thought 
came upon her, that be his fate in other respects what it 
might — whether he should fall by the cruelty of the savage, 
the sword of the enemy, or, worst of all, by the vengeance 
of his indignant country — to her at least he was lost for- 
ever. 

Avoiding carefully any reference to the subject of her 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


99 


grief, and bending his whole mind to the one object of 
securing her attention, Alfred Bernard endeavored to be- 
guile her with graphic descriptions of the scenes he ha*d 
left in England. Pie spoke — and on such subjects none 
could speak more charmingly — of the brilliant society of 
wits, and statesmen, and beauties, which clustered together 
in the metropolis and the palace of the restored Stuart. 
Passing lightly over the vices of the court, he dwelt upon 
its pageantry, its wit, its philosophy, its poetry. The tal- 
ents of the gay and accomplished, but vicious Rochester, 
were no more seen dimmed in their lustre by his faithlessness 
to his wife, or his unprincipled vices in the beau monde of 
London. Anecdote after anecdote, of Waller, of Cowley, 
of Dryden, flowed readily from his lips. The coffee-houses 
were described, where wit and poetry, science and art, poli- 
tics and religion, were discussed by the first intellects of 
the age, and allured the aspiring youth of England from 
the vices of dissipation, that they might drink in rich 
draughts of knowledge from these Pierian springs. The 
theatre, the masque, the revels, which the genial rays of the 
Restoration had once more warmed into life, next formed 
the subjects of his conversation. Then passing from this 
picture of gay society, he referred to the religious discus- 
sions of the day. His eye sparkled and his cheek glowed 
as he spoke of the triumphs of the established Church over 
puritanical heresy; and his lip curled, and he laughed 
satirically, as he described the heroic sufferings of some 
conscientious Baptist, dragged at the tail of a cart, and 
whipped from his cell in Newgate to Tyburn hill. Gradu- 
ally did Virginia's thoughts wander from the one .sad topic 
which had engrossed them, and by imperceptible degrees, 
even unconsciously to herself, she became deeply interested 
in his discourse. Her mother, whom the wily Bernard took 
occasion ever and anon, to propitiate with flattery, was 
completely carried away, and in the inmost recesses of her 


100 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


heart a hope was hatched that the eloquent young courtier 
would soon take the place of the rebel Hansford, in the 
affections of her daughter. 

We have referred to a stream, along whose forest-banks 
their road had wound. That stream was the noble York, 
whose broad bosom, now broader and more beautiful than 
ever, lay full in their view, and on which the duck, the 
widgeon and the gull were quietly floating. Here and there 
could be seen the small craft of some patient fisherman, as 
it stood anchored at a little distance from the shore, its 
white sail shrouding the solitary mast ; and at an opening 
in the woods, about a mile ahead, rose the tall masts of an 
English vessel, riding safely in the broad harbour of York- 
town — then the commercial rival of Jamestown in the 
colony. 

The road now became too narrow for the gentlemen any 
longer to ride by the side of the carriage, and at the sug- 
gestion of the Colonel, an arrangement was adopted by 
which he should lead the little party in front, while Bernard 
should bring up the rear. This precaution was the more 
necessary, as the abrupt banks of the river, with the dense 
bushes which grew along them, was a safe lurking place for 
any Indians who might be skulking about the country. 

“ A very nice gentleman, upon my word,” said Mrs. 
Temple, when Alfred Bernard was out of hearing. “ Vir- 
ginia, don’t you like him ?” 

“ Yes, very much, as far as I have an opportunity of 
judging.” 

“ His information is so extensive, his views so correct, 
his conversation so delightful. Don’t you think so ?” 

“Yes, mother,” replied Yirginia. 

“ Yes, mother 1 Why don’t you show more spirit ?” said 
her mother. “ There you sat moping in the carriage the 
whole way, looking for all the world as if you didn’t under- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 101 

stand a word he was saying. That isn’t right, my dear ; 
you should look up and show more spirit — d’ye hear 1” 

. “ You mistake, mother ; I did enjoy the ride very much, 
and found Mr. Bernard very agreeable.” 

“ Well, but you were so lack-a-daisical and yea, nay, in 
your manner to him. How do you expect a young man 
to feel any interest in you, if you never give him any 
encouragement ?” 

11 Why, mother, I don’t suppose Mr. Bernard takes any 
more interest in me than he would in any casual acquain- 
tance ; and, indeed, if he did, I certainly cannot return it. 
But I will try and cheer up, and be more agreeable for 
your sake.” 

“ That’s right, my dear daughter ; remember that your 
old mother knows what is best for you, and she will never 
advise you wrong. I think it is very plain that this young 
gentleman has taken a fancy to you already, and while I 
would not have you too pert and forward, yet it is well 
enough to show off, and, in a modest way, do everything to 
encourage him. You know I always said, my dear, that 
you were too young when you formed an attachment for that 
young Hansford, and that you did not know your own 
heart, and now you see I was right.” 

Virginia did not see that her mother was right, but she 
was too well trained to reply ; and so, without a word, she 
yielded herself once more to her own sad reflections, and, 
true-hearted girl that she was, she soon forgot the fascina- 
tions of Alfred Bernard in her memory of Hansford. 

They had not proceeded far, when Bernard saw, seated 
on the trunk of a fallen tree, the dusky form of a young 
Indian, whom he soon recognized as the leader of the party 
who the day before had made the attack upon Windsor 
Hall. The interest which he felt in this young man, whose 
early history he had heard, combined with a curiosity to 
converse with one of the strange race to which he belonged, 


102 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 


and, as will be seen, a darker motive and a stronger reason 
than either, induced Bernard to rein up his horse, and per- 
mitting his companions to proceed some distance in front, 
to accost the young Indian. Alfred Bernard, by nature 
and from education, was perfectly fearless, though he lacked 
the magnanimity which, united with fearlessness, constitutes 
bravery. Laying his hand on his heart, which, as he had 
already learned, was the friendly salutation used with and 
toward the savages, he rode slowly towards Manteo. The 
young Indian recognized the gesture which assured him of 
his friendly intent, and rising from his rude seat, patiently 
waited for him to speak. 

“ I would speak to you,” said Bernard. 

“Speak on.” 

“ Are you entirely alone ?” 

“Ugh,” grunted Manteo, affirmatively. 

“ Where are those who were with you at Windsor Hall ?” 

“ Gone to Delaware,* to Matchicomoco. ” f 

“ Why did you not go with them ?” asked Bernard. 

“ Manteo love long-knife — Pamunkey hate Manteo — 
drive him away from his tribe,” said the young savage, sor- 
rowfully. 

The truth flashed upon Bernard at once. This young 
savage, who, in a moment of selfish ambition, for his own 
personal advancement, had withheld the vengeance of his 
people, was left by those whom he had once led, as no longer 
worthy of their confidence. In the fate of this untutored 
son of the forest, the young courtier had found a sterner 
rebuke to selfishness and ambition than he had ever seen in 
the court of the monarch of England. 

“ And so you are alone in the world now ?” said Ber- 
nard. v 

* The name of the village at the confluence of Pamunkey and Mat- 
tapony, now called West Point. 

I Gran 1 Council of the Indians. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


103 


“ Ugh 1” 

“With nothing to hope or to live for ?” 

“ One hope left,” said Manteo, laying his hand on his 
tomahawk. 

“ What is that ?” 

“ Revenge.” 

“ On whom ?” 

“ On long-knives and Pamunkeys.” 

“ If you live for revenge,” said Bernard, “ we live for 
nearly the same object. You may trust me — I will be your 
friend. Do you know me ?” 

“No !” said Manteo, shaking his head. 

“Well, I know you,” said Bernard. “Now, what if I 
help you to the sweet morsel of revenge you speak of ?” 

“ I tank you den.” 

“ Do you know your worst enemy ?” 

“ Manteo !” 

“ How — why so ?” 

“ I make all my oder enemy.” 

“ Nay, but I know an enemy who is even worse than 
yourself, because he has made you your own enemy. One 
who oppresses your race, and is even now making war upon 
your people. I mean Thomas Hansford.” 

“ Ugh 1” said Manteo, with more surprise than he had 
yet manifested ; and for once, leaving his broken English, 
he cried in his own tongue, “Ahoaleu Virginia.” (He 
loves Virginia Temple.) 

“ And do you ?” said Bernard, guessing at his meaning, 
and marking with surprise the more than ordinary feeling 
with which Manteo had uttered these words. 

“ See dere,” replied Manteo, holding up an arrow, which 
he had already taken from his quiver, as if with the inten- 
tion of fixing it to his bow-string. “ De white crenepo,* 


* A woman. 


104 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


de maiden, blunt Manteo’s arrow when it would fly to her 
father’s heart.” At the same time he pointed towards the 
road along which the carriage had lately passed. 

“By the holy Virgin,” muttered Bernard, “ methinksthe 
whole colony, Indians, negroes, and all, are going stark 
mad after this girl. And so you hate Hansford, then ?” he 
said aloud. 

“No, I can’t hate what she loves,” replied Manteo, feel- 
ingly. 

“ Why did you aid in attacking her father’s house then, 
yesterday ?” 

“Long-knives strike only when 'dey hate ; Pamunkey 
fight from duty. If Manteo drop de tomahawk because he 
love, he is squaw, not a brave.” 

“But this Hansford,” said Bernard, “ is in arms against 
your people, whom the government would protect.” 

“ Ugh !” grunted the young warrior. “ Pamunkey want 
not long-knives’ protect. De grand werowance of long- 
knives has cut down de peace tree and broke de pipe, and 
de tomahawk is now dug up. De grand werowance pro- 
tect red man like eagle protect young hare.” 

“ Nay, but we would be friends with the Indians,” urged 
Bernard. “We would share this great country with them, 
and Berkeley would be the great father of the Pamunkeys.” 

The Indian looked with ineffable disdain on his com- 
panion, and then turning towards the river, he pointed to a 
large fish-hawk, who, with a rapid swoop, had caught in his 
talons a fish that had just bubbled above the water for 
breath, and borne him far away in the air. 

“ See dere,” said Manteo ; “ water belong to fish — hawk 
is fish’s friend.” 

Bernard saw that he had entirely mistaken the charac- 
ter of his companion. The vengeance of the Indians being 
once aroused, they failed to discriminate between the authors 
of the injuries which they had received, and those who 


THE DEVOTED BKIDE. 105 

Bought to protect them ; and they attributed to the great 
werowance of the long-knives (for so they styled the Gov- 
ernor of Virginia) all the blame of the attack and slaugh- 
ter of the unoffending Susquehannahs. But the wily Ber- 
nard was not cast down by his ill success, in attempting to 
arouse the vengeance of Manteo against his rival. 

“ Your sister is at the hall often, is she not ?” he asked, 
after a brief pause. 

“ Ugh,” said the Indian, relapsing into this affirmative 
grunt. 

“ So is Hansford — your sister knows him.” 

“ What of dat ?” 

“ Excuse me, my poor friend,” said Bernard, “ but I came 
to warn you that your sister knows him as she should not.” 

The forest echoed with the wild yell that burst from the 
lips of Manteo at this cruel fabrication — so loud, so wild, 
so fearful, that the ducks which had been quietly basking in 
the sun, and admiring their graceful shadows in the water, 
were startled, and with an alarmed cry flew far away down 
the river. 

The Indian character, although still barbarous, had been 
much improved by association with the English. Respect 
for the female sex, and a scrupulous regard for female purity, 
which are ever the first results of dawning civilization, had 
already taken possession of the benighted souls of the In- 
dians of Virginia. More especially was this so with the 
young Manteo, whose association with the whites, notwith- 
standing his strong devotion to his own race, had imparted 
more refinement and purity to his nature than was enjoyed 
by most of his tribe. Mamalis, the pure, t*he spotless 
Mamalis — she, whom from his earliest boyhood he had 
hoped to bestow on some young brave, who, foremost in 
the chase, or most successful in the ambuscade, could tell 
the story of his achievements among the chieftains at the 
council-fire — it was too much ; the stern heart of the young 


106 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Indian, though “trained from his tree-rocked cradle the 
fierce extremes of good and ill to bear,” burst forth in a 
gush of agony, as he thus heard the fatal knell of all his 
pride and all his hope. 

Bernard was at first startled by the shriek, but soon 
regained his composure, and calm and composed regarded 
his victim. When at length the first violence of grief had 
subsided, he said, with a soft, mild voice, which fell fresh as 
{lew upon the withered heart of the poor Indian, 

“ I am sorry for you, my friend, but it is too true. And 
now, Manteo, what can be your only consolation ?” 

“ Revenge is de wighsacan* to cure dis wound,” said the 
poor savage. 

“ Right. This is the only food for brave and injured 
men. Well, we understand each other now — don’t we ?” 

“ Ugh,” grunted Manteo, with a look of satisfaction. 

“Yery well,” returned Bernard, “is your tomahawk 
sharp ?” 

“ It won’t cut deep as dis wound, but I will sharpen it 
on my broken heart,” replied Manteo, with a heavy sigh. 

“ Right bravely said. And now farewell ; I will help 
you as I can,” said Alfred Bernard, as he turned and rode 
away, while the poor Indian sank down again upon his rude 
log seat, his head resting on his hands. 

“ And this the world calls villainy !” mused Bernard, as 
he rode along. “But it is the weapon with which nature 
has armed the weak, that he may battle with the strong. 
For what purpose was the faculty of intrigue bestowed upon 
man, if it were not to be exercised ? and, if exercised at 
all, why surely it can never be directed to a purer object 
than the accomplishment of good. Thus, then, what the 
croaking moralist calls evil, may always be committed if 
good be the result ; and what higher good can be attained 


* A root used by the Indians successfully in the cure of all wounds. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


107 


in life than happiness, and what purer happiness can there 
be than revenge ? No man shall ever cross my path but 
once with safety, and this young Yirginia rebel has already 
done so. He has shown his superior skill and courage with 
the sword, and has made me ask my life- at his hands. Bet 
him look to it that he may not have to plead for his own 
life in vain. This young Indian’s thirst will not be 
quenched but with blood. By the way, a lucky hit was 
that. His infernal yell is sounding in my ears yet. But 
Hansford stands in my way besides. This fair young 
maiden, with her beauty, her intellect, and her land, may 
make my fortune yet ; and who can blame the poor, friend- 
less orphan, if he carve his way to honour and indepen- 
dence even through the blood of a rival. The poor, duped 
savage whom % I just left, said that he was his own worst 
enemy ; I am wiser in being my own best friend. Tell me 
not of the world — it is mine oyster, which I will open by 
my wits as well as by my sword. Prate not of morality 
and philanthropy. Man is a microcosm, a world within 
himself, and he only is a wise one who uses the world with- 
out for the success of the world within. Once supplant 
this Hansford in the love of his betrothed bride, and I suc- 
ceed to the broad acres of Windsor Hall. Old Berkeley 
shall be the scaffolding by which I will rise to power and 
position, and when he rots down, the building I erect will 
be but the fairer for the riddance. Who recks the path 
which he has trod, when home and happiness are in view ? 
What general thinks of the blood he has shed, when the 
shout of victory rings in his ears ? Be true to yourself, 
Alfred Bernard, though false to all the world beside ! At 
last, good father Bellini, thou hast taught me true wisdom — 
* Success sanctifies sin.’” 


108 


/ 

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“Is this your joyous city, whose antiquity is of ancient days?” 

Isaiah . 

“ One mouldering tower, o’ergrown with ivy, shows 
Where first Virginia’s capital arose, 

And to the tourist’s vision far withdrawn 
Stands like a sentry at the gates of dawn. 

The church has perished — faint the lines and dim 
Of those whose voices raised the choral hymn, 

Go read the record on the mossy stone, 

’Tis brief and sad — oblivion claims its own !” 

Thompson’s Virginia. 

The traveller, as lie is borne on the bosom of the noble 
James, on the wheezing, grunting steamboat, may still see 
upon the bank of the river, a lonely ruin, which is all that 
now remains of the old church at Jamestown. Despite its 
loneliness and desolation, that old church has its memories, 
which hallow it in the heart of every Yirginjan. From its 
ruined chancel that “ singular excellent” Christian and man, 
good Master Hunt, was once wont, in far gone times, to 
preach the gospel of peace to those stern old colonists, who 
in full armour, and ever prepared for Indian interruptions, 
listened with devout attention. There in the front pew, 
which stood nearest the chancel, had sat John Smith, whose 
sturdy nature and strong practical sense were alone suffi- 
cient to repel the invasion of heathen savages, and provide 
for the wants of a famishing colony. Yet, with all the 
sternness and rigour of his character, his heart was subdued 
by the power of religion, as he bowed in meek submission 
to its precepts, and relied with humble confidence upon its 
promises. The pure light of Heaven was reflected even 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 109 

from that strong iron heart. At that altar had once knelt 
a dusky but graceful form, the queenly daughter of a noble 
king ; and, her savage nature enlightened by the rays of the 
Sun of righteousness, she had there received upon her royal 
brow the sacred sign of her Redeemer’s cross. And many 
a dark eye was bedewed with tears, and many a strong 
heart was bowed in prayer, as the stout old colonists stood 
around, and saw the baptismal rite which sealed the profes- 
sion and the faith of the brave, the beautiful, the generous 
Pocahontas. 

But while this old ruin thus suggests many an association 
with the olden time, there is nothing left to tell the anti- 
quary of the condition and appearance of Jamestown, the 
first capital of Virginia. The island, as the narrow neck 
of land on which the town was built is. still erroneously 
called, may yet be seen ; but not a vestige of the simple 
splendour, with which colonial pride delighted to adorn it, 
remains to tell the story of its glory or destruction. And 
yet, to the eye and the heart of the colonist, this little town 
was a delight : for here were assembled the Governor and 
his council, who, with mimic pride, emulated the grandeur 
and the pageant of Whitehall. Here, too, were the bur- 
gesses congregated at the call of the Governor, who, with 
their stately wives and blooming daughters, contributed to 
the delight of the metropolitan society. Here, too, was the 
principal mart, where the planters shipped their tobacco for 
the English market, and received from home those articles 
of manufacture and those rarer delicacies which the colony 
was as yet unable to supply. And here, too, they received 
news from Europe, which served the old planters and 
prurient young statesmen with topics of conversation until 
the next arrival ; while the young folks gazed with wonder 
and delight at the ship, its crew and passengers, who had 
actually been in that great old England of which they had 
heard their fathers talk so much. 


110 THE DEVOTED BFIDE. 

The town, like an old-fashioned sermon, was naturally 
divided into two parts. The first, which lay along the 
river, was chiefly devoted to commercial purposes — the 
principal resort of drunken seamen, and those land harpies 
who prey upon them for their own subsistence. Here were 
located those miserable tippling-houses, which the Assembly 
had so long and so vainly attempted to suppress. Here 
were the busy forwarding houses, with their dark counting- 
rooms, their sallow clerks, and their bills of lading. Here 
the shrewd merchant and the bluff sea-captain talked loudly 
and learnedly of the laws of trade, the restrictive policy of 
the navigation laws, and the growing importance of the 
commercial interests of the colony. And here was the 
immense warehouse, under the especial control of the gov- 
ernment, with its hundreds of hogsheads of tobacco, all 
waiting patiently their turn for inspection ; and the sweat- 
ing negroes, tearing off the staves of the hogsheads to dis- 
play the leaf to view, and then noisily hammering them 
together again, while the impatient inspector himself went 
the rounds and examined the wide spread plant, and 
adjudged its quality ; proving at the same time his capa- 
city as a connoisseur, by the enormous quid which he rolled 
pleasantly in his mouth. 

But it is the more fashionable part of the town, with 
which our story has to do ; and here, indeed, even at this 
early day, wealth and taste had done much to adorn the 
place, and to add to the comfort of the inhabitants. At 
one end of the long avenue, which was known as Stuart 
street, in compliment to the royal family, was situated the 
palace of Sir William Berkeley. Out of his private means 
and the immense salary of his office, the governor had done 
much to beautify and adorn his grounds. A lawn, with its 
well shaven turf, stretched in front of the house for more 
than a hundred yards, traversed in various directions with 
white gravelled walks, laid out with much taste, and inter- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. Ill 

spersed with large elms and poplars. In the centre of the 
lawn was a beautiful summer-house, over which the white 
jessamine and the honeysuckle, planted by Lady Frances 7 
own hand, clambered in rich profusion. The house, itself, 
though if it still remained, it would seem rather quaint and 
old-fashioned, was still very creditable as a work of archi- 
tecture. A long porch, or gallery, supported by simple 
Doric pillars, stretched from one end of it to the other, and 
gave an air of finish and beauty to the building. The 
house was built of brick, brought all the way from Eng- 
land, for although fhe colonists had engaged in the manu- 
facture of brick to a certain extent, yet for many years after 
the time of which we write, they persisted in this extraor- 
dinary expense, in supplying the materials for their better 
class of buildings. 

At the other end of Stuart street was the state-house, 
erected in pursuance of an act, the preamble of which 
recites the disgrace of having laws enacted and judicial 
proceedings conducted in an ale-house. This building, 
like the palace, was surrounded by a green lawn, orna- 
mented with trees and shrubbery, and enclosed by a hand- 
some pale — midway the gate and the portico, on either side 
of the broad gravel walk, were two handsome houses, one 
of which was the residence of Sir Henry Chicherley, Vice- 
President of the Council, and afterwards deputy-governor 
upon the death of Governor Jeffreys. The othei; house 
was the residence of Thomas Ludwell, Secretary to the 
colony, and brother to Colonel Philip Ludwell, whose 
sturdy and unflinching loyalty during the rebellion, has 
preserved his name to our own times. 

The state-house, itself, was a large brick building, 
with two wings, the one occupied by the governor and his 
council, the other by the general court, composed indeed 
of the same persons as the council, but acting in a judicial 
capacity. The centre building was devoted to the House 


112 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Burgesses exclusively, containing their hall, library, and 
apartments for different offices. The whole structure was 
surmounted by a queer looking steeple, resembling most 
one of those high, peaked hats, which Hogarth has placed 
on the head of Hudibras and his puritan compeers. 

Between the palace and the state-house, as we have said 
before, ran Stuart street, the thoroughfare of the little 
metropolis, well built up on either side with stores and the 
residences of the prominent citizens of the town. There 
was one peculiarity in the proprietors of these houses, 
which will sound strangely in the ears of their descend- 
ants. Accustomed to the generous hospitality .of the 
present day, the reader may be surprised to learn that 
most of the citizens of old Jamestown entertained their 
guests from the country for a reasonable compensation ; 
and so, when the gav cavalier from Stafford or Gloucester 
had passed a week among the gaieties or business of the 
metropolis, 

He called for his horse and he asked for his way, 

While the jolly old landlord cried “ Something to pay.” 

But when we reflect that Jamestown was the general resort 
of persons from all sections of the colony, and that the 
tavern accommodations were but small, we need not be 
surprised at a state of things so different from the glad 
and gratuitous welcome of our own day. 

Such, briefly and imperfectly described, was old James- 
town, the first capital of Yirginia, as it appeared in 1676, 
to the little party of travellers, whose fortunes we have 
been following, as they rode into Stuart street, late in the 
evening of the day on which they left Windsor Hall. The 
arrival, as is usual in little villages, caused quite a sensa- 
tion. The little knot of idlers that gathered about the 
porch of the only regular inn, desisted from whittling the 
Btore box, in the demolishing of which they had been busily 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 113 

engaged — and looked up with an impertinent stare at the 
new comers. Mine host bustled about as the carriage 
drove up before the door, and his jolly red face grew 
redder by his vociferous calls for servants. In obedience 
to his high behest, the servants came — the hostler, an 
imported cockney, to examine the points of the horses 
committed to his care, and to measure his provender by 
their real worth ; the pretty Scotch chambermaid to con- 
duct the ladies to their respective rooms, and a brisk and 
dapper little French barber to attack the colonel vehe- 
mently with a clothes-brush, as though he had hostile 
designs upon the good man’s coat. 

Bernard, in the meantime, having promised to come for 
Virginia, and escort her to the famous birth-night ball, 
rode slowly towards the palace ; now and then casting a 
haughty glance around him on those worthy gossips, 
who followed his fine form with their admiring eyes, and 
whispered among themselves that “ Some folks was cer- 
tainly born to luck; for look ye, Gaffer, there is a young 
fribble, come from the Lord knows where, and brought 
into the colony to be put over the heads of many worthier ; 
and for all he holds his head so high, and sneers so mighty 
handsome with his lip, who knows what the lad may be. 
The great folk aye make a warm nest for their own bas- 
tards, and smooth the outside of the blanket as softly as 
the in, while honester folks must e’en rough it in frieze and 
Luffield. But na’theless, I say nothing, neighbor.” 


7 


114 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

“ There was a sound of revelry by night — 

And Belgium’s capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry j and bright 
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again. 

And all went merry as a marriage bell.” 

Childe Harold. 

The ball at Sir William Berkeley’s palace was of that 
character, which, in the fashionable world, is described as 
brilliant ; and was long remembered by those who attended 
it, as the last scene of revelry that was ever known in 
Jamestown. The park or lawn which we have described 
was brilliantly illuminated with lamps and transparencies 
hung from the trees. The palace itself was a perfect blaze 
of light. The coaches of the cavaliers rolled in rapid suc- 
cession around the circular path that led to the palace, 
and deposited their fair burdens, and then rolled rapidly 
away to await the breaking up of the ball. Young beaux, 
fairly glittering with gold embroidery, with their handsome 
doublets looped with the gayest ribbons, and their hair 
perfumed and oiled, and plaited at the sides in the most 
captivating love-knots ; their cheeks beplastered with 
rouge, and their moustache carefully trimmed and brushed, 
passed gracefully to and fro, through the vast hall, and 
looked love to soft eyes that spake again. And those 
young eyes, how brightly did they beam, and how freshly 
did the young cheeks of their lovely owners blush, even 
above the rouge with which they were painted, as they 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE, 


115 


met the admiring glance of some favored swain bent lov- 
ingly upon them ! How graceful, too, the attitude which 
these fair maidens assumed, with their long trails sweeping 
and fairly carpetting the floor, or when held up by their 
tapering fingers, how proudly did they step, as they 
crossed the room to salute the stately and dignified, but 
now smiling Lady Frances Berkeley — and she the queenly 
centre of that vast throng, leaning upon the arm of her 
noble and venerable husband, with what grace and dignity 
she bowed her turbaned head in response to their saluta- 
tions ; and with what a majestic air of gratified vanity did 
she receive the courteous gratulations of the chivalrous ca- 
valiers as they wished her many returns of the happy day, 
and hoped that the hours of her life would be marked by 
the lapse of diamond sands, while roses grew under her feet ! 

Sir William Berkeley, of whose extraordinary character 
we know far more than of any of the earlier governors of 
Yirginia, was now in the evening of his long and prosper- 
ous life. “ For more than thirty years he had governed 
the most flourishing country the sun ever shone upon,”* 
and had won for himself golden opinions from all sorts of 
people. Happy for him, and happy for his fame, if he had 
passed away ere he had become “encompassed,” as he 
himself expresses it, “ with rebellion, like waters. ” To all 
he had endeared himself by his firmness of character and 
his suavity of manner. In 1659, he was called, by the 
spontaneous acclaim of the people of Yirginia, to assume 
the high functions of the government, of which he had been 
deprived during the Protectorate, and, under his lead, Yir- 
ginia was the first to throw off her allegiance to the Pro- 
tector, and to declare herself the loyal realm of the banished 
Charles. Had William Berkeley died before the troublous 
scenes which now awaited him, and which have cast so dark 


* This is his own language. 


116 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


a shadow upon his character, scarce any man in colonial 
history had left so pure a name, or been mourned by 
sincerer tears. Death is at last the seal of fame, and over 
the grave alone can we form a just estimate of human worth 
and human virtue. 

In person he was all that we delight to imagine in one 
who is truly great. Age itself had not bent his tall, majes- 
tic figure, which rose, like the form of the son of Kish, 
above all the people. His full black eye was clear and 
piercing, and yet was often softened by a benevolent expres- 
sion. And this was the true nature of his heart, formed at 
once for softness and for rigour. His mouth, though fre- 
quently a pleasant smile played around it, expressed the in- 
flexible firmness and decision of his character. No man to 
friends was more kind and gentle ; no man to a foe was more 
relentless and vindictive. The only indication of approach- 
ing age was in the silver colour of his hair, which he did 
not conceal with the recently introduced periwig, and 
which, combed back to show to its full advantage his fine 
broad brow, fell in long silvery clusters over his shoulders. 

Around him were gathered the prominent statesmen of 
the colony, members of the Council and of the House of 
Burgesses, conversing on various subjects of political inte- 
rest. Among those who chose this rational mode of enter- 
tainment was our old friend, Colonel Henry Temple, who 
met many an old colleague among the guests, and every- 
where received the respect and attention which his sound 
sense, his sterling worth, and his former services so richly 
deserved. 

The Lady Frances, too, withdrawing her arm from that 
of her husband, engaged in elegant conversation with the 
elderly dames who sought her society ; now conversing 
with easy dignity with the accomplished wives of the 
councillors ; now, with high-bred refinement, overlooking 
the awkward blunders of some of the plainer matrons, whose 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 117 

husbands were in the Assembly ; and now smiling good- 
humouredly at the old-fashioned vanity and assumed dig- 
nity of Mrs. Temple. The comparison of the present 
order of things with that to which she had been accustomed 
in her earlier days, formed, as usual, the chief theme of 
this good lady’s discourse. But, to the attentive observer, 
the glance of pride with which from time to time she looked 
at her daughter, who, with graceful step and glowing cheek, 
was joining in the busy dance, plainly showed that, in some 
respects at least, Mrs. Temple had to acknowledge that the 
bright present had even eclipsed her favourite past. 

Yes, to the gay sound of music, amid the bright butter- 
flies of fashion, who flew heartlessly through the mazes of 
the graceful dance, Virginia Temple moved — with them, 
but not of them. She had not forgotten Hansford, but 
she had forgotten self, and, determined to please her mother, 
she had sought to banish from her heart, for the time, the 
sorrow which was still there. She had come to the ball 
with Bernard, and he, seeing well the effort she had made, 
bent all the powers of his gifted mind to interest her 
thoughts, and beguile them from the absorbing subject of 
her grief. She attributed his efforts to a generous nature, 
and thanked him in her heart for thus devoting himself to 
her pleasure. She had attempted to return his kindnes^by 
an assumed cheerfulness, which gradually became real and 
natural, for shadows rest not long upon a young heart. 
They fly from the blooming garden of youth, and settle 
themselves amid the gloom and ruins of hoary age. And 
never had Alfred Bernard thought the fair girl more lovely, 
as, with just enough of pensive melancholy to soften and 
not to sadden her heart, she moved among the gay and 
thoughtless throng around her. 

The room next to the ball-room was appropriated to such 
of the guests as chose to engage in cards and dice ; for in 
this, as in many other respects, the colony attempted to 


. 1 


118 the devoted bride. 

imitate the vices of the mother country. It is true the 
habit of gaming was not so recklessly extravagant as that 
which disgraced the corrupt court of Charles the Second, 
and yet the old planters were sufficiently bold in their risks, 
and many hundreds of pounds of tobacco often hung upon 
the turn of the dice-box or the pip* of a card. Seated 
around the old fashioned card-table of walnut, were sundry 
groups of those honest burgesses, who were ready enough 
in the discharge of their political functions in the state- 
house, but after the adjournment were fully prepared for all 
kinds of fun. Some were playing at gleek, and, to the 
uninitiated, incomprehensible was the jargon in which the 
players indulged. “ Who’ll buy the stock ?” cries the 
dealer. “I bid five ” — “ and I ten ” — “ and I fifty. ” Yie, 
revie, surrevie, capote, double capote, were the terms that 
rang through the room, as the excited gamesters, with 
anxious faces, sorted and examined their cards. At another 
table was primero, or thirty-one, a game very much resem- 
bling the more modern game of vingt-et-un ; and here, too, 
loud oaths of “ damn the luck,” escaped the lips of the 
betters, as, with twenty-two in their hands, they drew a ten, 
and burst with a pip too many. Others were moderate in 
their risks, rattled the dice at tra-trap, and playing for only 
angel a game, smoked their pipes sociably together, and 
talked of the various measures before the Assembly. 

Thus the first hours of the evening passed rapidly away, 
when suddenly the sound of the rebecksf ceased in the ball- 
room, the gaming was arrested in an instant, and at the 
loud cry of hall-a-hall, J the whole company repaired to the 
long, broad porch, crowding and pushing each other, the 
unwary cavaliers treading on the long trains of the fair 
ladies, and receiving a well-merited frown for their care- 

* Pip signified the spot on a card. 

f Fiddles. 

t The cry of the herald for silence at the beginning of the masque. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


119 


lessness. The object of this general rush was to see the 
masque, which was to Hbe represented in the porch, illu- 
minated and prepared for the purpose. At one end of the 
porch a stage was erected, with all the simple machinery 
which the ingenuity of the youth of Jamestown could 
devise, to aid in the representation — the whole concealed 
for the present from the view of the spectators by a green 
baize curtain. 

The object of the masque, imitated from the celebrated 
court masques of the seventeenth century, which reflected 
so much honour on rare Ben Jonson, and aided in establish- 
ing the early fame of John Milton, was to celebrate under 
a simple allegory the glories of the Restoration. Alfred 
Bernard, who had witnessed such a representation in Eng- 
land, first suggested the idea of thus honouring the birth- 
night of the Lady Frances, and the suggestion was eagerly 
taken hold of by the loyal young men of the little colonial 
capital, who rejoiced in any exhibition that might even 
faintly resemble the revels to which their loyal ancestors, 
before the revolution, were so ardently devoted. 


CHAPTER XY. 


u Then help with your call 
For a hall, a hall ! 

Stand up by the wall, 

Both good-men and tall, 

We are one man’s all !” 

The Gipsey Metamorphosed. 

With the hope that a description of the sports and 
pastimes of their ancestors may meet with like favour from 
the reader, we subjoin the following account of this little 


120 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


masque which was prepared for the happy occasion by 
Alfred Bernard, aided by the grave chaplain, Arthur 
Hutchinson, and performed by some of the gay gallants 
and blooming damsels of old Jamestown. We flatly 
disclaim in the outset any participation in the resent- 
ment or contempt which was felt by these loyal Yirginians 
towards the puritan patriots of the revolution. 

The curtain rises and discovers the genius of True 
Liberty, robed in white, with a wreath of myrtle around 
her brow; holding in her right hand a sceptre entwined 
with myrtle, as the emblem of peace, and in her left a sprig 
of evergreen, to represent the fabled Moly* of Ulysses. 
As she advances to slow and solemn music, she kneels at 
an altar clothed with black velvet, and raising her eyes to 
heaven, she exclaims : — 

“ How long, oh Heaven ! shall power with impious hand 
In cruel bondage bind proud Britain’s land, 

Or heresy in fair Religion’s robe 

Usurp her empire and control the globe !— 

Hypocrisy in true Religion’s name 

Has filled the land of Britain long with shame, 

And Freedom, captive, languishes in chains, 

While with her sceptre, Superstition reigns. 

Restore, oh Heaven ! the reign of peace and love, 

And let thy wisdom to thy people prove 
That Freedom too is governed by her rules, — 

Ho toy for children, and no game for fools ; — 

Freed from restraint the erring star would fly 
Darkling, and guideless, through the untravelled sky — 

The stubborn soil would still refuse to yield 
The whitening harvest of the fertile field ; 

The wanton winds, when loosened from their caves, 

Would drive the bark uncertain through the waves — 

/ 

* Tho intelligent reader, familiar with the Odyssey, need not to be 
reminded that with this wand of Moly, which Mercury presented to 
Ulysses, the Grecian hero was enabled to restore his unhappy com- 
panions, who, by the magic of the goddess Circe, had been transformed 
into swine. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 121 

I 

This magnet lost, the sea, the air, the world, 

To wild destruction would be swiftly hurled! 

And say, just Heaven, oh say, is feeble man 
Alone exempt from thy harmonious plan? 

Shall he alone, in dusky darkness grope, 

Dree from restraint, and free, alas ! from hope ? 

Slave to his passions, his unbridled will, 

Slave to himself, and yet a freeman still? 

No ! teach him in his pride to own that he 
Can only in obedience be free — 

That even he can only safely move, 

When true to loyalty, and true to love.” 

As she speaks, a bright star appears at the farther end 
of the stage, and ascending slowly, at length stands over 
the altar, where she kneels. Extending her arm towards 
the star, she rises and cries in triumph : — 

u I hail the sign, pure as the starry gem, 

Which rested o’er the babe of Bethlehem — 

My prayer is heard, and Heaven’s sublime decree 
Will rend our chains, and Britain shall be free !” 

Then enters the embodiment of Puritanism, represented 
in the peculiar dress of the Roundheads — with peaked hat, 
a quaint black doublet and cloak, rigidly plain, and cut in 
the straight fashion of the sect; black Flemish breeches, 
and grey hose ; huge square-toed shoes, tied with coarse 
leather thongs ; and around the waist a buff leather belt, in 
which he wears a sword. He comes in singing, as he walks, 
one of the Puritan versions, or rather perversions of the 
Psalms, which have so grossly marred the exquisite beauty 
of the original, and of which one stanza will suffice the 
reader : — 


“Arise, ob Lord, save me, my God, 

For thou my foes hast stroke, 

All on the cheek-bone, and the teeth 
Of wicked men hast broke.”*' . 


* A true copy from the records. 


122 


THE DEVOTED V H I D E . 


Then standing at some distance from the altar, he rolls up 
his eyes, till nothing but the whites can be seen, and is 
exercised in prayer. With a smile of bitter contempt the 
genius of True Liberty proceeds : — 

" See where he comes, with visage long and grim, 

Whining with nasal twang his impious hymn ! 

See where he stands, nor bows the suppliant knee, 

He apes the Publican, but acts the Pharisee — 

Snatching the sword of just Jehovah’s wrath, 

And damning all who leave his thorny path. 

Now by this wand which Hermes, with a smile, 

Gave to Ulysses in the Circean isle, 

I will again exert the power divine, 

And change to Britons these disgusting swine.” 

She waves the sprig of Moly over the head of the Puri- 
tan three or four times, who, sensible of the force of the 
charm, cries out : — 

" Hah! what is this ! strange feelings fill my heart; 

Avaunt thee, tempter ! I defy thy art — 

Up, Israel ! hasten to your tents, and smite 
These sons of Belial, and th’ Amalekite, — 

Philistia is upon us with Goliah, 

Come, call the roll from twelfth of Nehemiah,* 

Gird up your loins and buckle on your sword. 

Fight with your prayers, your powder, and the word. 

How, General ‘ Faint-not,’ f has your spirit sunk ? 

Let not God’s soldier yield unto a Monk.”;}; 

Then, as the charm increases, he continues in a feebler 
voice : 

* "Cromwell,” says an old writer, "hath beat up his drums clean 
through the Old Testament. You may learn the genealogy of our Saviour 
by the names of his regiment. The muster-master has no other list than 
the first chapter of St. Matthew.” If the Puritan sergeant had lost this 
roll, Nehemiah XIL would serve him instead, 

f The actual name of one of the Puritans. 

J General Monk, the restorer of royalty. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


123 


u Curse on the tempter’s art ! that heathenish Molj 
Has in an instant changed my nature wholly ; 

The past, with all its triumphs, is a trance, 

My legs, once taught to kneel, incline to dance. 
My voice, which to some holy psalm belongs, 

Is twisting round into these carnal songs. 

Alas ! I’m lost ! New thoughts my bosom swell; 
Habakuk, Barebones, Cromwell, fare ye well. 
Break up conventicles, I do insist, 

Sing the doxology and be dismissed.” 


As he finishes the last line, the heavy roll of thunder is 
heard, and suddenly the doors of a dungeon in the back- 
ground fly open, from which emerges the impersonation of 
Christmas, followed by the Queen of May. Christmas is 
represented by a jolly, round-bellied, red-nosed, laughing 
old fellow, dressed in pure white. His hair is thickly pow- 
dered, and his face red with rouge. In his right hand he 
holds a huge mince-pie, which ever and.anon he gnaws with 
exquisite humour, and in his left is a bowl of generous was- 
sail, from which he drinks long and deeply. His brows are 
twined with misletoe and ivy, woven together in a fantastic 
wreath, and to his hair and different parts of his dress are 
attached long pendants of glass, to represent icicles. As 
he advances to the right of the stage, there descends from 
the awning above an immense number of small fragments 
of white paper, substitutes for snow-flakes, with which that 
part of the floor is soon completely covered. 

The Queen of May takes her position on the left. She 
is dressed in a robe of pure white, festooned with flowers, 
with a garland of white roses twined with evergreen upon 
her brow. In her hand is held the May-pole, adorned with 
ribbons of white, and blue, and red, alternately wrapped 
around it, and surmounted with a wreath of various flowers. 
As she assumes her place, showers of roses descend from 
above, envelope her in their bloom, and shed a fresh fra- 
grance around the room. 


124 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


The Genius of Liberty points out the approaching 
figures to the Puritan, and exclaims : 

“ Welcome, ye happy children of the earth, 

Who strew life’s weary way with guileless mirth ! 

Thus Joy should ever herald in the morn 
On which the Saviour of the world was born. 

And thus with rapture should we ever bring 
Fresh flowers to twine around the brow of Spring. 

Think not, stern mortal, God delights to scan, 

With fiendish joy, the miseries of man j 
Think not the groans that rend your bosom here 
Are music to Jehovah’s listening ear. 

Formed by His power, the children of His love, 

Man’s happiness delights the Sire above ; 

While the light mirth which from his spirit springs 
Ascends like incense to the King of kings.” 

Christmas, yawning and stretching himself, then roars out 
in a merry, lusty voice : 

“My spirit rejoices to hear merry voices, 

With a prospect of breaking my fast, 

For with such a lean platter, these days they call latter* 

Were very near being my last. 

u In that cursed conventicle, as chill as an icicle, 

I caught a bad cold in my head, 

And some impudent vassal stole all of my wassail, 

And left me small beer in its stead. 

“ Of all that is royal and all that is loyal 
They made a nice mess of mince-meat. 

With their guns and gunpowder, and their prayers that are louder, 
But the de’il a mince-pie did I eat. 

“No fat sirloin carving, I scarce kept from starving. 

And my bones have become almost bare, 

As if I were the season of the gunpowder treason, 

To be hallowed with fasting and prayer. 

* The Puritans believed the period of the revolution to be the latter 
days spoken of in prophecy. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE, 


125 


“ If they fancy pulse diet, like the Jews they may try it, 

Though I think it is fit but to die on. 

But may the Emanuel long keep this new Daniel 
From the den of the brave British Lion. 

“ In the juice of the barley IT1 drink to King Charley, 

The bright star of royalty risen, 

While merry maids laughing and honest men quaffing 
Shall welcome old Christmas from prison.” 

As he thunders out the last stave of his song, the Queen 
of May steps forward, and sings the following welcome to 
Spring : 


“ Come with blooming cheek, Aurora, 
Leading on the merry morn; 
Come with rosy chaplets, Flora, 
See, the baby Spring is born. 


“ Smile and sing each living creature, 
Britons, join me in the strain ; 

Lo ! the Spring is come to Nature, 

Come to Albion’s land again. 

“ Winter’s chains of icy iron 

Melt before the smile of Spring; 

Cares that Albion’s land environ 
Fade before our rising king. 

u Crown his brow with freshest flowers, 
Weave the chaplet fair as May, 

While the sands with golden hours 
Speed his happy life away. s 

“ Crown his brow with leaves of laurel, 

Twined with myrtle’s branch of peace — 
A hero in fair Britain’s quarrel, 

A lover when her sorrows cease. 


« Blessings on our royal master. 
Till in death he lays him down, 
Free from care and from disaster, 
To assume a heavenly crown.” 


% . 


126 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


As she concludes her lay, she places the May-pole in 
the centre of the stage, and a happy throng of gay young 
swains and damsels enter and commence the main dance 
around it. The Puritan watches them at first with a wild 
gaze, in which horror is mingled with something of admi- 
ration. Gradually his stern features relax into a grim smile, 
and at last, unable longer to restrain his feelings, he bursts 
forth in a most immoderate and carnal laugh. His feet at 
first keep time to the gay music ; he then begins to 
shuffle them grotesquely on the floor, and finally, overcome 
by the wild spirit of contagion, he unites in the dance to 
the sound of the merry rebecks. While the dance con- 
tinues, he shakes off the straight-laced puritan dress which 
he had assumed, and tossing the peaked hat high in the air, 
appears, amid the deafening shouts of the delighted audi- 
tory, in the front of the stage in the rich costume of the 
English court, and with a royal diadem upon his brow, 
the mimic impersonation of Charles the Second. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


127 


CHAPTER XYI. 

u I charge you, oh women ! for the love you bear to men, to like as 
much of this play as please you ; and I charge you, oh men ! for the love 
you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate 
them,) that between you and the women the play may please/' 

,A 8 you Like It. 

“ There is the devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man ; a 
tun of man is thy companion/' Henry IV. 

The good-natured guests at the Governor’s awarded all 
due, and more than due merit to the masque which was 
prepared for their entertainment. Alfred Bernard became 
at once the hero of the evening, and many a bright eye 
glanced towards him, and envied the fair Virginia the 
exclusive attention which he paid to her. Some young 
cavaliers there were, whose envy carried them so far, that 
they sneered at the composition of the young poet; de- 
clared the speeches of Liberty to be prosy and tiresome ; 
and that the song of Christmas was coarse, rugged, and 
devoid of wit ; nay, they laughed at the unnatural trans- 
formation of the grim-visaged Puritan into the royal 
Charles, and referred sarcastically to the pretentious pe- 
dantry of the young author, in introducing the threadbare 
story of Ulysses and the Moly into a modern production 

and at the inconsistent jumble of ancient mythology and 

pure Christianity. Bernard heard them not, and if ho 
had, he would have scorned their strictures, instead of 
resenting them. But he was too much engrossed in con- 
versation with Virginia to heed either the good-natured 
applause of his friends, or the peevish jealousy of his 
young rivals. Indeed, the loyalty of the piece amply 


128 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

atoned for all its imperfections, and the old colonists 
smiled and nodded their heads, delighted at the whole- 
some tone of sentiment which characterized the whole 
production. 

The character of Christmas was well sustained by 
Richard Presley,* a member of the House of Burgesses, 
w r hose jolly good humour, as broad sometimes as his 
portly stomach, fitted him in an eminent degree for the 
part. He was indeed one of those merry old wags, who, 
in an illustrated edition of Milton, might have appeared 
in L’Allegro, to represent the idea of “ Laughter holding 
both his sides.” 

Seeing Sir William Berkeley and Colonel Temple en- 
gaged in earnest conversation, in one corner of the room, 
the old burgess bustled, or rather waddled up to them, and 
remaining quiet just long enough to hear the nature of 
their conversation chimed in, with, 

“Talking about Bacon, Governor? Why he is only 
imitating old St. Albans, and trying to establish a novum 
organum in Yirginia. By God, it seems to me that Sir 
Nicholas exhausted the whole of his mediocria firma 
policy, and left none of it to his kinsmen. Do you not 
know what he meant by that motto, Governor ?” 

“No;” said Sir William, smiling blandly. 

“Well, I’ll tell you, and add another wrinkle to your 
face. Mediocria firma, when applied to Bacon, means 
nothing more nor less than sound middlings. But I tell 
you what, this young mad-cap, Bacon, will have to adopt 
the motto of another namesake of his, and ancestor, per- 
haps, for friars aye regarded their tithes more favourably 
than their vows of virtue — and were fathers in the church 
as well by the first as the second birth. ” 

* This jovial old colonist is referred to in the T. M. account of the 
Rebellion. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 129 

“What ancestor do you allude to now, Dick?” asked 
the Governor. 

“ Why, old Friar Bacon, who lamented that time was, 
time is, and time will be. And to my mind, when time 
shall cease with our young squealing porker here, we will 
e’en substitute hemp in its stead.” 

“Thou art a mad wag, Presley,” said the Governor, 
laughing, “ and seem to have sharpened thy wit by strap- 
ping it on the Bible containing the whole Bacon genealogy. 
Come, Temple, let me introduce to your most favourable 
acquaintance, Major Richard Presley, the Falstaff of Vir- 
ginia, with as big a paunch, and if not as merry a wit, at 
least as great a love for sack — aye, Presley ?” 

“Yes, but indifferent honest, Governor, which I fear my 
great prototype was not,” replied the old wag, as he shook 
hands with Colonel Temple. 

“ Well, I believe you can be trusted, Dick,” said the 
Governor, kindly, “ and I may yet give you a regiment of 
foot to quell this modern young Hotspur of Virginia.” 

“Aye, that would be rare fun,” said Presley, with a 
merry laugh, “but look ye, I must take care to attack him 
in as favourable circumstances as the true Falstaff did, or 
’sblood he might embowell me.” 

“ I would like to own the tobacco that would be raised 
over your grave then, Dick,” said the Governor, laughing, 
“ but never fear but I will supply you with a young Prince 
Hal, as merry, as wise, and as brave.” 

“ Which is he, then ? for I can’t tell your true prince by 
instinct yet.” 

“There he stands talking to Miss Virginia Temple. You 
know him, Colonel Temple, and I trust that you have not 
found that my partiality has overrated his real merit.” 

“By no means,” returned Temple; “I never saw a 
young man with whom I was more pleased. He is at 
once so ingenuous and frank, and so intelligent and just 
8 


130 THE DEVOTED BRIDE, 

in his views and opinions on all subjects — who is he, Sii 
William? One would judge, from his whole mien and 
appearance, that noble blood ran in his veins.” 

“I believe not,” replied Berkeley, “ or if so, as old Pres- 
ley would say, he was hatched in the nest where some noble 
eagle went a birding. I am indebted to my brother, Lord 
Berkeley, for both my chaplain and my private secretary. 
Good Parson Hutchinson seems to have been the guar- 
dian of Bernard in his youth, but what may be the real 
relation between them I am unable to say.” 

“ Perhaps, like Major Presley’s old Priar Bacon,” said 
Temple, “ the good parson may have been guilty of some 
indiscretion in his youth, for which he would now atone by 
his kindness to the offspring of his early crime. ” 

“Hardly so,” replied the Governor, “or he would pro- 
bably acknowledge him openly as his son, without all this 
mystery. I have several times hinted at the subject to Mr. 
Hutchinson, but it seems to produce so much real sorrow, 
that I have never pushed my inquiries farther. All that I 
know is what I tell you, that my brother, in whose parish 
this Mr. Hutchinson long officiated as rector, recommended 
him to me — and the young man, who has been thoroughly 
educated by his patron, or guardian, by the same recom- 
mendation, has been made my private secretary. ” ^ 

“ He is surely worthy to fill some higher post,” said 
Temple. 

“ And he will not want my aid in building up his for- 
tunes,” returned Berkeley; “but they have only been in 
the colony about six months as yet — and the young man 
has entwined himself about my heart like a son. My own 
bed, alas 1 is barren, as you know, and it seems that a kind 
providence had sent this young man here as a substitute 
for the offspring which has been denied to me. See Tem- 
ple,” he added, in a whisper, “ with what admiring eyes he 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 131 

regards your fair daughter. And if an old man may judge 
of such matters, it is with maiden modesty returned.” 

“I think that you are at fault,” said Temple, with a 
sigh ; “ my daughter’s affections are entirely disengaged at 
present.?’ 

“ Well, time will develope which of us is right. It would 
be a source of pride and pleasure, Harry, if I could live to 
see a union between this, my adopted boy, and the daughter 
of my early friend,” said the old Governor, as a tear glis- 
tened in his eye ; “ but come, Presley, the dancing has 
ceased for a time,” he added aloud, “ favour the company 
with a song.” 

“ Oh, damn it, Governor,” replied the old burgess, “ my 
songs won’t suit a lady’s ear. They are intended for the 
rougher sex.” 

“Well, never fear,” said the Governor, “I will check 
you if I find you are overleaping the bounds of pro- 
priety. ” 

“ Yery well, here goes then — a loyal ditty that I heard 
in old England, about five years agone, while I was there 
on a visit. Proclaim order, and join in the chorus as many 
as please.” 

And with a loud, clear, merry voice, the old burgess gave 
vent to the following, which he sung to the tune of the 
“ Old and Young Courtier an air which has survived even 
to our own times, though adapted to the more modernized 
words, and somewhat altered measure of the “ Old English 
Gentleman : 

** Young Charley is a merry prince ,* he’s come unto his own, 

And long and merrily may he fill his martyred father’s throne ; 

With merry laughter may he drown old Nolly’s whining groan, 

And when he dies bequeath his crown to royal flesh and bone. 

Like a merry King of England, 

And England’s merry King. 


132 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ With bumpers full, to royal Charles, come fill the thirsty glasses, 
The pride of every loyal heart, the idol of the masses ; 

Yet in the path of virtue fair, old Joseph far surpasses, 

The merry prince, whose sparkling eye delights in winsome lasses. 
Like a merry King of England, 

And England’s merry King. 

“ For Joseph from dame Potiphar, as holy men assert, 

Leaving his garment in her hand, did naked fly unhurt ; 

But Charley, like an honest lad, will not a friend desert, 

And so he still remains behind, nor leaves his only shirt. 

Like a merry King of England, 

And England’s merry King. 

“ Then here’s to bonny Charley, he is a prince divine, 

He hates a Puritan as much as Jews detest a swine ; 

But, faith, he loves a shade too much his mistresses and wine. 
Which makes me fear that he will not supply the royal line, 

With a merry King of England, 

And England’s merry King.” 

The singer paused, and loud and rapturous was the ap- 
plause which he received, until, putting up his hand in a 
deprecating manner, silence was again restored, and with 
an elaborate impromptu, which it had taken him about 
two hours that morning to spin from his old brain, he 
turned to Berkeley, and burst forth again. 

“Nor let this mirror of the king by us remain unsung, 

To whom the hopes of Englishmen in parlous times have dungs 
Let Berkeley’s praises still be heard from every loyal tongue, 

While Bacon and his hoggish herd be cured, and then be hung. 

Like young rebels of the King, 

And the King’s young rebels.” 




Various were the comments drawn forth by the last 
volunteer stanza of the old loyalist. With lowering looks, 
some of the guests conversed apart in whispers, for there 
were a good many in the Assembly, who, though not 
entirely approving the conduct of Bacon, were favourably 
disposed to his cause. Sir William Berkeley himself 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


133 


restrained his mirth out of respect for a venerable old man, 
who stood near him, and towards whom many eyes were 
turned in pity. This was old Nathaniel Bacon, the uncle 
of the young insurgent, and himself a member of the coun- 
cil. There were dark rumours afloat, that this old man had 
advised his nephew to break his parole and fly from James- 
town ; but, although suspicion had attached to him, it 
could never be confirmed. Even those who credited the 
rumour rather respected the feelings of a near relative, in 
thus taking the part of his kinsman, than censured his con- 
duct as savouring of rebellion. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

“ And first she pitched her voice to sing, 

Then glanced her dark eye on the king, 

And then around the silent ring, 

And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 
Her pretty oath, by yea and nay, 

She could not, would not, durst not play.” 

Marmion. 

“ How did you like Major Presley’s song ?” said Ber- 
nard to Virginia, as he leaned gracefully over her chair, 
and played carelessly with the young girl’s fan. 

“ Frankly, Mr. Bernard, ’ ; she replied, “ not at all. There 
was only one thing which seemed to me appropriate in the 
exhibition.” 

“ And what was that ?” 

“ The coarse language and sentiment of the song com- 
ported well with the singer ” 


134 THE DEVOTED BKIDE. 

“ Oh, really, Miss Temple,” returned Bernard, “ you are 
too harsh in your criticism. It is not fair to reduce the 
habits and manners of others to your own purer standard 
of excellence, any more than to censure the scanty dress of 
your friend Mamalis, which, however picturesque in itself, 
would scarcely become the person of one of these fair ladies 
here.” 

“And yet,” said Yirginia, blushing crimson at the allu- 
sion, “ there can be no other standard by which I at least 
can be governed, than that established by my own taste and 
judgment. You merely asked me ray opinion of Major 
Presley’s performance ; others, it is true, may differ with 
me, but their decisions can scarcely affect my own.” 

“ The fact that there is such a wide variance in the taste 
of individuals,” argued Bernard, “ should, however, make 
us cautious of condemning that which may be sustained by 
the judgment of so many. Did you know, by the way, Miss 
Yirginia, that ‘habit’ and ‘ custom’ are essentially the same 
words as ‘habit’ and ‘costume.’ This fact — for the history 
of a nation may almost be read in the history of its lan- 
guage — should convince you that the manners and customs 
of a people are as changeable as the fashions of their 
dress.” 

“ I grant you,” said Yirginia, “ that the mere manners 
of a people may change in many respects ; but true taste, 
When founded on a true appreciation of right, can never 
change.” 

“ Why, yes it can,” replied her companion, who delighted 
in bringing the young girl out, as he said, and plying her 
with specious sophisms. “ Beauty, certainly, is an abso- 
lute and not a relative emotion, and yet what is more 
changeable than a taste in beauty. The Chinese bard will 
write a sonnet on the oblique eyes, flat nose and club feet 
of his saffron Amaryllis, while he would revolt with horror 
from the fair features of a British lassie. Old Uncle Giles 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


135 


will tell you that the negro of his Congo coast paints his 
Obi devil white, in order to inspire terror in the hearts 
of the wayward little Eboes. The wild Indians of Virginia 
dye their cheeks — ” 

“ Nay, there you will not find so great a difference be- 
tween us,” said Virginia, interrupting him, as she pointed to 
the plastered rouge on Bernard’s cheek. “ But really, Mr. 
Bernard, you can scarcely be serious in an opinion so 
learnedly argued. You must acknowledge that right and 
wrong are absolute terms, and that a sense of them is 
inherent in our nature.” 

“ Well then, seriously, my dear Miss Temple,” replied 
Bernard, “I do not see so much objection to the gay society 
of England, which is but a reflection from the mirror of the 
court of Charles the Second.” 

“ When the mirror is stained or imperfect, Mr. Bernard, 
the image that it reflects must be distorted too. That 
society which breaks down the barriers that a refined senti- 
ment has erected between the sexes, can never develope in 
its highest perfection the purity of the human heart.” 

“Well, I give up the argument,” said Bernard, “for 
where sentiment is alone concerned, there is no more power- 
ful advocate than woman. But, my dear Miss Temple, you 
who have such a pure and correct taste on this subject, can 
surely illustrate your own idea by an example. Will you 
not sing ? I know you can — your mother told me so.” 

“ You must excuse me, Mr. Bernard ; I would willingly 
oblige you, but I fear I could not trust my voice among 
so many strangers.” 

“ You mistake your own powers,” urged Bernard. There 
is nothing easier, believe me, after the first few notes of the 
roice, which sound strangely enough I confess, than for any 
one to recover self-possession entirely. I well remember 
the first time I attempted to speak before a large audience. 
When I arose to my feet, my knees trembled, and my lips 


136 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


actually felt heavy as lead. It seemed as though every 
drop of blood in my system rushed back to my heart. The 
vast crowd before me was nothing but an immense assem- 
blage of eyes, all bent with the most burning power upon 
me; and when at length I opened my mouth, and first 
heard the tones of my own voice, it sounded strange and 
foreign to my ear. It seemed as though it was somebody 
else, myself and yet not myself, who was speaking ; and my 
utterance was so choked and discordant, that I would have 
given worlds if I could draw back the words that escaped 
me. But after a half dozen sentences, I became perfectly 
composed and self-possessed, and cared no more for the 
gaping crowd than for the idle wind which I heed not. 
So it will be with your singing, but rest assured that the 
discord of your voice will only exist in your own fancy. 
Now will you oblige me?” 

“ Indeed, Mr. Bernard, I cannot say that you have 
offered much inducement,” said Virginia, laughing at the 
young man’s description of his forensic debut. “ Nothing 
but the strongest sense of duty would impel me to pass 
through such an ordeal as that which you have described. 
Seriously you must excuse me. I cannot sing.” 

“ Oh yes you can, my dear,” said her mother, who was 
standing near, and heard the latter part of the conversa- 
tion. “What’s the use of being so affected about itl You 
know you can sing, my dear — and I like to see young 
people obliging.” 

“ That’s right, Mrs. Temple,” said Bernard, “ help me 
to urge my petition ; I don’t think Miss Virginia can be 
disobedient, even if it were in her power to be disobliging.” 

“ The fact is, Mr. Bernard,” said the old lady, “that the 
young people of the present day require so much persuad- 
ing, that its hardly worth the trouble to get them to do any 
thing. ” 

“ Well, mother, if you put it on that ground,” said Vir- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 137 

ginia, “ I suppose I must waive my objections and oblige 
you.” 

So saying, she rose, and taking Bernard’s arm, she seated 
herself at Lady Frances’ splendid harp, which was sent from 
England as a present by her brother-in-law, Lord Berkeley. 
Drawing off her white gloves, and running her little taper- 
ing fingers over the strings, Virginia played a melancholy 
symphony, which accorded well with the sad words that 
came more sadly on the ear through the medium of her 
plaintive voice : — 

“ Fondly they loved, and her trusting heart 
With the hopes of the future bounded, 

Till the trumpet of Freedom condemned them to part, 

And the knell of their happiness sounded. 

“ But his is a churl’s and a traitor’s choice, 

Who, deaf to the call of duty, 

Would linger, allured by a syren’s voice, 

On the Circean island of beauty. 

“ His country called ! he had heard the sound, 

And kissed the pale cheek of the maiden, 

Then staunched with his blood his country’s wound, 

And ascended in glory to Aidenn, 

a The shout of victory lulled him to sleep 
The slumber that knows no dreaming, 

But a martyr’s reward he will proudly reap, 

In the grateful tears of Freemen. 

“And long shall the maidens remember her love, 

And heroes shall dwell on his story; 

She died in her constancy like the lone dove, 

But he like an eagle in glory. 

« Oh let the dark cypress mourn over her grave, 

And light rest the green turf upon her ; 

While over his ashes the laurel shall wave, 

For he sleeps in the proud bed of honour.” 


138 


the devoted bride. 


The reader need not be told that this simple little ballad 
derived new beauty from the feeling with which Virginia 
sang it. The remote connection of its story with her own 
love imparted additional sadness to her sweet voice, and 
as she dwelt on the last line, her eyes filled with tears and 
her voice trembled. Bernard marked the effect which had 
been produced, and a thrill of jealousy shot through his 
heart at seeing this new evidence of the young girl’s con- 
stancy. 

But while he better understood her feelings than others 
around her, all admired the plaintive manner in which she 
had rendered the sentiment of the song, and attributed her 
emotion to her own refined appreciation and taste. Many 
were the compliments which were paid to the fair young 
minstrel by old and young; by simpering beaux and 
generous maidens. Sir William Berkeley, himself, gal- 
lantly kissed her cheek, and said that Lady Frances might 
well be jealous of so fair a rival ; and added, that if he 
were only young again, Windsor Hall might be called 
upon to yield its fair inmate to adorn the palace of the 
Governor of Virginia. 


■^y 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


139 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

u Give me more love or more disdain, 

The torrid or the frozen zone ; 

Bring equal ease unto my pain. 

The temperate affords me none ; 

Either extreme of love or hate, 

Is sweeter than a calm estate .” — Thomas Carew. 

While Virginia thus received the meed of merited 
applause at the hands of all who were truly generous, 
there were some then, as there are many now, in whose 
narrow and sterile hearts the success of another is ever a 
sufficient incentive to envy and depreciation. Among 
these was a young lady, who had hitherto been the espe- 
cial favourite of Alfred Bernard, and to whom his atten- 
tions had been unremittingly paid. This young lady, Miss 
Matilda Bray, the daughter of one of the councillors, 
vented her spleen and jealousy in terms to the following 
purport, in a conversation with the amiable and accom- 
plished Caroline Ballard. 

“ Did you ever, Caroline, see any thing so forward as 
that Miss Temple ?” 

“ I am under a different impression,” replied her com- 
panion. “ I was touched by the diffidence and modesty of 
her demeanor.” 

“I don’t know what you call diffidence and modesty; 
screeching here at the top of her voice and drowning every 
body’s conversation. Do you think, for instance, that you 
or I would presume to sing in as large a company as this 
— with every body gazing at us like a show.” 

“ No, my dear Matilda, I don’t think that we would. 
First, because no one would be mad enough to ask us; 




140 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


and, secondly, because if we did presume, every body would 
be stopping their ears, instead of admiring us with their 
eyes.” 

“ Speak for yourself,” retorted Matilda. “ I still hold 
to my opinion, that it was impertinent to be stopping other 
people’s enjoyment to listen to her.” 

“ On the contrary, I thought it a most welcome inter- 
ruption, and I believe that most of the guests, as well as 
Sir William Berkeley, himself, concurred with me in 
opinion.” 

“ Well, I never saw any body so spiteful as you’ve grown 
lately, Caroline. There’s no standing you. I suppose you 
will say next that this country girl is beautiful too, with her 
cotton head and blue china eyes.” 

“I am a country girl myself, Matilda,” returned Caro- 
line, “ and as for the beauty of Miss Temple, whatever I 
may think, I believe that our friend, Mr. Bernard, is of that 
opinion.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t think, with your provoking laugh,” said 
Miss Bray, “ that I care a fig for Mr. Bernard’s attention 
to her.” 

“ I didn’t say so.” 

“ No, but you thought so, and you know you did ; and 
what’s more, it’s too bad that you should take such a delight 
in provoking me. I believe it’s all jealousy at last.” 

“ Jealousy, my dear Matilda,” said her companion, “is a 
jaundiced jade, that thinks every object is of its own yel- 
low colour. But see, the dance is about to commence 
again, and here comes my partner. You must excuse me.” 
And with a smile of conscious beauty, Caroline Ballard 
gave her hand to the handsome young gallant who ap- 
proached her.” 

Bernard and Yirginia, too, rose from their seats, but, to 
the surprise of Matilda Bray, they did not take their places 
in the dance, but walked towards the door. Bernard saw 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 141 

how his old flame was writhing with jealousy, and as he 
passed her he said, maliciously, 

“ Good evening, Miss Matilda ; I hope you are enjoying 
the ball.” 

“Oh, thank you, exceedingly,” said Miss Bray, patting 
-her foot hysterically on the floor, and darting from her fine 
black eyes an angry glance, which gave the lie to her words. 

Leaving her to digest her spleen at her leisure, the hand- 
some pair passed out of the ball-room and into the lawn. 
It was already thronged with merry, laughing young peo- 
ple, who, wearied with dancing, were promenading through 
the gravelled walks, or sitting on the rural benches, 
arranged under the spreading trees. 

“ Oh, this is really refreshing,” said the young girl, as 
she smoothed back her tresses from her brow, to enjoy the 
delicious river breeze. “ Those rooms were very oppres- 
sive'.” 

“I scarcely found them so,” said Bernard, gallantly; 
“ for when the mind is agreeably occupied we soon learn to 
forget any inconvenience to which the body may be sub- 
jected. But I knew you would enjoy a walk through this 
fine lawn.” 

“ Oh, indeed I do ; and truly, Mr. Bernard,” said the 
ingenuous girl, “ I have much to thank you for. Nearly a 
6tranger in Jamestown, you have made my time pass hap- 
pily away, though I fear you have deprived yourself of the 
society of others far more agreeable.” 

“ My dear Miss Temple, I will not disguise from you, 
even to retain your good opinion of my generosity, the fact 
that my attention has not been so disinterested as you sup- 
pose.” 

“ I thank you, sir,” said Virginia, “for the compliment; 
but I am afraid that I have not been so agreeable, in return 
for your civility, as I should. You were witness to a scene, 
Mr. Bernard, which would make it useless to deny that I 


142 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


have much reason to be sad ; and it makes me more 
unhappy to think that I' may affect others by my gloom.” 

“ I know to what you allude,” replied Bernard, “ and be- 
lieve me, fair girl, sweeter to me is tjiis sorrow in your young 
heart, than all the gaudy glitter of those vain children of 
fashion whom we have left. But, alas ! I myself have 
much cause to be sad — the future looms darkly before me, 
and I see but little left in life to make it long desirable.” 

“ Oh, say not so,” said Virginia, moved by the air of 
deep melancholy which Bernard had assumed, but mistaking 
its cause. “ You are young yet, and the future should be 
bright. You have talents, acquirements, everything to 
ensure success ; and the patronage and counsel of Sir Wil- 
liam Berkeley will guide you in the path to honourable dis- 
tinction. Fear not, my friend, but trust hopefully in the 
future.” 

“ There is one thing, alas !” said Bernard, in the same 
melancholy tone, “ without which success itself would 
scarcely be desirable.” 

“ And what is that ?” said the young girl, artlessly 
“ Believe me, you will always find in me, Mr. Bernard, a 
warm friend, and a willing if not an able counsellor.” 

“ But this is not all,” cried Bernard, passionately. “ Does 
not your own heart tell you that there must be something 
more than friendship to satisfy the longings of a true heart ? 
Oh, Virginia — yes, permit me to call you by a name now 
doubly dear to me, as the home of my adoption and as the 
object of my earnest love. Dearest Virginia, sweet though 
it be to the heart of a lonely orphan, drifting like a sailless 
vessel in this rugged world, to have such a friend, yet 
sweeter far would it be to live in the sunlight of your love.” 

“ Mr. Bernard !” exclaimed Virginia, with unfeigned 
surprise. 

“ Nay, dearest, do you, can you wonder at this revela- 
tion ? I had striven, but in vain, to conceal a hope 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


143 


which I knew was too daring. Oh, do not by a word de- 
stroy the faint ray which has struggled so bravely in my 
heart.” 

“ Mr. Bernard,” said Yirginia, as she withdrew her arm 
from his, “ I can no longer permit this. If your feelings 
be such as you profess, and as I believe they are — for I 
know your nature to be honorable — I regret that I can only 
respect a sentiment which I can never return.” 

“ Oh, say not thus, my own Virginia, just as a new life 
begins to dawn upon me. At least be not so hasty in a 
sentence which seals my fate forever.” 

“ I am not too hasty,” replied Virginia. “ But I would 
think myself unworthy of the love you have expressed, if I 
held out hopes which can never be realized. You know my 
position is a peculiar one. My hand but not my heart is 
disengaged. Nor could you respect the love of a woman 
who could so soon forget one with whom she had promised 
to unite her destiny through life. I have spoken thus freely, 
Mr. Bernard, because I think it due to your feelings, and 
because I am assured that what I say is entrusted to an 
honourable man.” 

“ Indeed, my dear Miss Temple, if such you can only be 
to me,” said her wily lover, “ I do respect from my heart 
your constancy to your first love. That unwavering devo- 
tion to another, whom I esteem, because he is loved by 
you, only makes you more worthy to be won. May I not 
still hope that time may supply the niche, made vacant in 
your heart, by another whose whole life shall be devoted 
to the one object of making you happy ?” 

“ Mr. Bernard, candour compels me to say no, my friend ; 
there are vows which even time, with its destroying hand 
can never erase, and which are rendered stronger and more 
sacred by the very circumstances which prevent their accom- 
plishment. Fate, my friend, may interpose her stern decree 
and forever separate me from the presence of Mr. Hans- 


144 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

ford, but my heart is still unchangeably his. Ha ! what is 
that ?” she added, with a faint scream, as from the little 
summer-house, which we have before described, there came 
a deep, prolonged groan. 

As she spoke, and a,s Bernard laid his hand upon his 
sword to avenge himself upon the intruder, a dark figure 
issued from the door of the arbor, and stood before them. 
The young man stood appalled as he recognized by the 
uncertain light of a neighbouring lamp, the dark, swarthy 
features of Master Hutchinson, the chaplain of the Go 
yernor. 

“ Put up your sword, young man,” said the preacher, 
gravely; “they who use the sword shall perish by the 
sword.” 

“ In the devil’s name,” cried Bernard, forgetful of the 
presence of Yirginia, “ how came you here ?” 

“Not to act the spy at least,” said Hutchinson, “such 
is not my character. Suffice it to say, that I came as you 
did, to enjoy this fresh air — and sought the quiet of this 
arbour to be free from the intrusion of others. I have lived 
too long to care for the frivolities which I have heard, and 
your secret is safe in my -breast — a repository of many a 
darker confidence than that.” With these words the bent 
form of the melancholy preacher passed out of their sight. 

“A singular man,” said Bernard, in a troubled voice, 
“but entirely innocent in his conduct. An abstracted 
book-worm, he moves through the world like a stranger in 
it. Will you return now ?” 

“ Thank you,” said Yirginia, “ most willingly — for I con- 
fess my nerves are a little unstrung by the fright I received 
And now, my friend, pardon me for referring to what has 
passed, but you will still be my friend, won’t you ?” 

“ Oh, certainly,” said Bernard, in an abstracted manner. 
“I wonder,” he muttered “what he could have meant by 
that hideous groan ?” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


145 


And sadly and silently the rejected lover and his unhappy 
companion returned to the heartless throng, who still lit up 
the palace with their hollow smiles. 

Alike the joyous dance, the light mirth, and the splendid 
entertainment passed unheeded by Virginia, as she sat 
silently abstracted, and returned indifferent answers to the 
questions which were asked her. And Bernard, the gay 
and fascinating Bernard, wandered through the crowd, like 
a troubled spectre, and ever and anon muttered to himself, 
"I wonder what he could have meant by that hideous 
groan ?” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

u His heart has not half uttered itself yet, 

And much remains to do as well as they. 

The heart is sometime ere it finds its focus, 

And when it does with the whole light of nature 
Strained through it to & hair’s breadth, it but burns 
The things beneath it which it lights to death.” 

Fe8tm. 

And now the ball is over. Mothers wait impatiently for 
their fair daughters, who are having those many last words 
so delightful to them, and so provoking to those who await 
their departure. Carriages again drive to the door, and 
receive their laughing, bright-eyed burdens, and then roll 
away through the green lawn, while the lamps throw their 
broad, dark shadows on the grass. Gay young cavaliers, 
who have come from a distance to the ball, exchange their 

slippers for their heavy riding-boots and spurs, and mount 
9 


146 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


their pawing and impatient steeds. Sober-sided old states- 
men walk away arm-in-arm, and discuss earnestly the busi- 
ness of the morrow. The gamesters and dicers depart, 
some with cheerful smiles, chuckling over their gains, and 
others with empty pockets, complaining how early the 
party had broken up, and proposing a renewal of the game 
the next night at the Blue Chamber at the Garter Inn. 
Old Presley has evidently, to use his own phrase, “ got his 
load,” and waddling away to his quarters, he winks his eye 
mischievously at the lamps, which, under the multiplying 
power of his optics, have -become more in number than the 
stars. Thus the guests all pass away, and the lights which 
flit for a few moments from casement to casement in the 
palace, are one by one extinguished, and all is dark, save 
where one faint candle gleams through an upper window 
and betrays the watchfulness of the old chaplain. 

And who is he, with his dark, melancholy eyes, which 
tell so plainly of the chastened heart — he who seeming so 
gentle and kind to all, reserves his sternness for himself 
alone — and who, living in love with all God’s creatures, 
seems to hate with bitterness his own nature ? It was not 
then as it is sometimes now, that every man’s antecedents 
were inquired into and known, and that the young cox- 
comb, who disgraces the name that he bears and the 
lineage of which he boasts, is awarded a higher station 
in society than the self-sustaining and worthy son of toil, 
who builds hi£ reputation on the firmer foundation of sub- 
stantial worth. Every ship brought new emigrants from 
England, Who had come to share the fate and to develope 
the destiny of the new colony, and who immediately as- 
sumed the position in society to which their own merit 
entitled them. And thus it was, that when Arthur Hutch- 
inson came to Virginia, no one asked, though many won- 
dered, what had blighted his heart, and cast so dark a 
shadow on his path. There was one man in the colony, 




THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 147 

and one alone, who had known him before — and yet Alfred 
Bernard, with whom he had come to Virginia, seemed to 
know little more of his history and his character than those 
to whom he was an entire stranger. 

Arthur Hutchinson was in appearance about fifty years 
of age. His long hair, which had once been black as the 
raven’s wing, but was now thickly sprinkled with grey, fell 
profusely over his stooping shoulders. There was that, too, 
in the deep furrows on his broad brow, and in the expres- 
sion of his pale thin lips which told that time and sorrow 
had laid their heavy hands upon him. As has been before 
remarked, by the recommendation of Lord Berkeley, which 
had great weight with his brother, Hutchinson had been 
installed as Chaplain to Sir William, and through his 
influence with the vestry, presented to the church in 
Jamestown. Although, with his own private resources, 
the scanty provision of sixteen thousand pounds of tobacco 
per annum, (rated at about eighty pounds sterling,) was 
ample for his comfortable support, yet good Master 
Hutchinson had found it very convenient to accept Sir 
William Berkeley’s invitation to make his home at the 
palace. Here, surrounded by his books, which he regarded 
more as cheerful companions, than as grim instructors, he 
passed his life rather in inoffensive meditation than in 
active usefulness. The sad and quiet reserve of his man- 
ners, which seemed to spring from the memory of some 
past sorrow, that while it had ceased to give pain, was still 
having its silent effect upon its victim, made him the object 
of pity to all around him. The fervid eloquence and 
earnestness of his sermons carried conviction to the minds 
of the doubting, arrested the attention of the thoughtless 
and the wayward, and administered the balm of consolation 
to the afflicted child of sorrow. The mysterious influence 
which he exerted over the proud spirit of Alfred Bernard, 
even by one reproving glance from those big, black, melan 


148 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

choly eyes, struck all who knew them with astonishment 
He took but little interest in the political condition of the 
colony, or in the state of society around him, and while, by 
this estrangement, and his secluded life, he made but few 
warm friends, he made no enemies. The good people of 
the parish were content to let the parson pursue his own 
quiet life undisturbed, and he lost none of their respect, 
while he gained much of their regard by his refusal to 
make the influence of the church the weapon of political 
warfare. 

Hutchinson, who had retired to his room some time 
before the guests had separated, was quietly reading from 
one of the old fathers, when his attention was arrested by 
a low tap at the door, which he at once recognized as 
Bernard’s. At the intimation to come in, the young man 
entered, and throwing himself into a chair, he rested his 
face upon his hand, and sighed deeply. 

“Alfred,” said the preacher, after watching him for a 
moment in silence, “I am glad you have come. I have 
somewhat to say to you.” 

“Well, sir, I will hear you patiently. What would you 
■ say ?” 

“ I would warn you against letting a young girl divert 
you from the pursuit of higher objects than are to be 
attained by love.” 

“ How, sir ?” exclaimed Bernard, with surprise. 

“Alfred Bernard, look at me. Read in this pale 
withered visage, these sunken cheeks, this bent form, and 
this broken heart, the brief summary of a history which 
cannot yet be fully known. You have seen and known 
that I am not as other men — that I walk through the 
world a stranger here, and that my home is in the dark 
dungeon of my own bitter thoughts. Would you know 
what has thus severed the chain which bound me 
to the world? Would you know what it is that has 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


149 


blighted a heart which might have borne rich fruit, and 
turned it to ashes ? Would you know what is the vulture, 
too cruel to destroy, which feeds upon this doomed 
form V ’ 

“ In God’s name, Mr. Hutchinson, why do you speak 
thus wildly ?” said Bernard, for he had never before heard 
such language fall from the lips of the reserved and quiet 
preacher. “I know that you have had your sorrows, for 
the foot-prints of sorrow are indeed on you, but I have 
often admired the stoical philosophy with which you have 
borne the burden of care.” 

“ Stoical philosophy 1” exclaimed the preacher, pressing 
his hand to his heart. “The name that the world has 
given to the fire which burns here, and whose flame is never 
seen. Think you the pain is less, because all the heat is 
concentrated in the heart, not fanned into a flame by the 
breath of words ?” 

“ Well, call it what you will,” said Bernard, “ and suffer 
as you will, but why reserve until to-night a revelation 
which you have so long refused to make ?” 

“ Simply because to-night I have seen and heard that 
which induces me to warn you from the course that you 
are pursuing. Young man, beware how you seek your 
happiness in a woman’s smile.” 

“You must excuse me, my old friend,” said Bernard, 
smiling, “if I remind you of an old adage which teaches 
us that a burnt child dreads the fire. If trees were sentient, 
would you have them to fly from the generous rain of 
heaven, by which they grow, and live, and bloom, because, 
forsooth, one had been blasted by the lightning of the 
storm ?” 

Hutchinson only replied with a melancholy shake of the 
head, and the two men gazed at each other in silence. 
Bernard, with all his sagacity and knowledge of human 
nature, in vain attempted to read the secret thoughts of 


150 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

his old guardian, whose dark eyes, lit up for a moment 
with excitement, had now subsided into the pensive melan- 
choly which >ve have more than once remarked. The 
affectionate solicitude with which he had ever treated 
him, prevented Bernard from being offended at his free- 
dom, and yet, with a vexed heart, he vainly strove to solve 
a mystery which thus seemed to surround Yirginia and 
himself, who, until a few days before, had been entire 
strangers to each other. 

“ Alfred Bernard,” said the old man at length, with his 
sweet gentle voice, “do you remember your father? You 
are very like him.” 

“ How can you ask me such a question, when you your- 
self have told me so often that I never saw him.” 

“True, I had forgotten,” returned Hutchinson, with a 
sigh, “ but your mother you remember ?” 

“Oh yes,” said the young man, with a tear starting 
in his eye, “I can never forget her sad, pensive counte- 
nance. I have been a wild, bad man, Mr. Hutchinson, but 
often in my darkest hours, the memory of my mother would 
come over me, as though her spirit, like a dove, was des- 
cending from her place in heaven to watch over her boy. 
Alas ! I feel that if I had followed the precepts which she 
taught me, I would now be a better and a happier man.” 

No heart is formed entirely hard; there are moments and 
memories which melt the most obdurate heart, as the wand 
of the prophet smote water from the rock. And Alfred 
•Bernard, with all his cold scepticism and selfish nature, 
was for a moment sincerely repentant. 

“ I have often thought, Mr. Hutchinson,” he continued, 

“ that if it had pleased heaven to give me some near re- 
lative on earth, around whom my heart could delight to 
cling, I would have been a better man. Some kind brother 
who could aid and sympathize with me in my struggle with 
the world, or some gentle sister, in whose love I could con- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


151 


fide, and to whose sweet society I might repair from the 
bitter trials of this rugged life ; if these had been vouch- 
safed me, my heart would have expanded into more sympa- 
thy with my race than it can ever now feel.” 

Hutchinson smiled sadly, and replied — 

“ It has been my object in life, Alfred Bernard, to sup- 
ply the place of those nearer and dearer objects of affection 
which have been denied you. I hope in this I have not 
been unsuccessful.” 

“ I am aware, Mr. Hutchinson,” said Bernard, bitterly, 
“ that to you I am indebted for my education and support. 
I hope I have ever manifested a becoming sense of grati- 
tude, and I only regret that in this alone am I able to repay 
you.” 

“ And do you think that I wished to remind you of your 
dependence, Alfred ? Oh, no — you owe me nothing. I 
have discharged towards you a solemn, a sacred duty, which 
you had a right to claim. I took you, a little homeless 
orphan, and sought to cultivate your mind and train your 
heart. In the first you have done more than justice to my 
tuition and my care. I am proud of the plant that I have 
reared. But how have you repaid me ? You have imbibed 
sentiments and opinions abhorrent to all just and moral 
men. You have slighted my advice, and at times have even 
threatened the adviser. ” 

“ If you refer to the difference in our faith,” said Ber- 
nard, “ you must remember that it was from your teachings 
that I derived the warrant to follow the dictates of my con- 
science and my reason. If they have led me into error, 
you must charge it upon these monitors which God has 
given me. You cannot censure me.” 

“ I confess I am to blame,” said the good old man, with 
a sigh. “ But who could have thought, that when, with my 
hard earnings, I had saved enough to send you to France, 
in order to give you a more extensive acquaintance with the 


152 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


world you were about to enter — who would have thought 
that it would result in your imbibing such errors as these 1 
Oh, my son, what freedom of conscience is there in a faith 
like papacy, which binds your reason to the will of another ? 
And what purity can there be in a religion which you dare 
not avow ?” 

“ Naaman bowed in the house of Rimmon,” returned Ber- 
nard, carelessly, “ and if the prophet forgave him for thus 
following the customs of his nation, that he might retain a 
profitable and dignified position, I surely may be forgiven, 
under a milder dispensation, for suppressing my real senti- 
ments in order to secure office and preferment. n 

“ Alas 1” murmured Hutchinson, bitterly. “ Well, it is a 
sentiment worthy of Edward’s son. But go, my poor boy, 
proud in your reason, which but leads you astray — wresting 
scripture in order to justify hypocrisy, and profaning reli- 
gion with vice. You shall not yet want my prayers that 
you may be redeemed from error.” 

“ Well, good night,” said Bernard, as he opened the 
door. “ But do me the justice to say, that though I may 
be deceitful, I can never be ungrateful, nor can I forget 
your kindness to a desolate orphan.” And so saying, he 
closed the door, and left the old chaplain to the. solitude oi 
his own stricken heart. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


153 


CHAPTER XX. 

u Oh, tiger’s heart, wrapt in a woman’s hide.” 

Henry VI. 

Brightly shone the sun through the window of the 
Garter Inn, at which Virginia Temple sat on the morning 
after the ball at Sir William Berkeley’s palace. Freed from 
the restraints of society, she gave her caged thoughts their 
freedom, and they flew with delight to Hansford. She re- 
proved herself for the appearance of gaiety which she had 
assumed, while he was in so much danger ; and she inwardly 
resolved that, not even to please her mother, would she be 
guilty again of such hypocrisy. She felt that she owed 
it to Hansford, to herself, and to others, to act thus. To 
Hansford, because his long and passionate love, and his 
unstained name, deserved a sacrifice of the world and its 
joys to him. To herself, because sad as were her reflections 
on the past, and fearful as were her apprehensions for the 
future, there was still a melancholy pleasure in dwelling on 
the memory of her love — far sweeter to her wounded 
heart than all the giddy gaiety of the world around her. 
And to others, because, but for her assumed cheerfulness, 
the feelings of Alfred Bernard, her generous and gifted 
friend, would have been spared the sore trial to which they 
had been subjected the night before. She was determined 
that another noble soul should not make shipwreck of its 
happiness, by anchoring its hopes on her own broken heart. 

Such were her thoughts, as she leaned her head upon her 
hand and gazed out of the window at the throng of people 
who were hurrying toward the state-house. For this was 
to be a great day in legislation. The Indian Bill was to 


154 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


be up in committee, and the discussion would be an able 
one, in which the most prominent members of the Assem- 
bly were to take part. She had seen the Governor’s car- 
riage, with its gold and trappings, the Berkeley coat-of- 
arms, and its six richly caparisoned white horses, roll 
splendidly by, with an escort of guards, by which Sir 
William was on public occasions always attended. She 
had seen the Burgesses, with their reports, their petitions 
and their bills, some conversing carelessly and merrily as 
they passed, and others with thoughtful countenance bent 
upon the ground, cogitating on some favourite scheme for 
extricating the colony from its dangers. She had seen 
Alfred Bernard pass on his favourite horse, and he had 
turned his eyes to the window and gracefully saluted her ; 
but in that brief moment she saw that the scenes through 
which he had passed the night before were still in his 
memory, and had made a deep impression on his heart. On 
the plea of a sick headache, she had declined to go with 
her mother to the “ House,” and the good old lady had 
gone alone with her husband, deploring, as she went, the 
little interest which the young people of the present day 
took in the politics and prosperity of their country. 

While thus silently absorbed in her own thoughts, the 
attention of Virginia Temple was arrested by the door of 
her room being opened, and on looking up, she saw before 
her the tall figure of a strange, wild looking woman, whom 
she had never seen before. This woman, despite the 
warmth of the weather, was wrapped in a coarse red 
shawl, which gave a striking and picturesque effect to her 
singular appearance. Her features were prominent and 
regular, and the face might have been considered hand- 
some if it were not for the exceeding coarseness of her 
swarthy skin. Her jet-black hair, not even confined by a 
comb, was secured by a black riband behind, and passing 
over the right shoulder, fell in a heavy mass over her bosom. 

«l 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


155 


Her figure was tall and straight as an Indian’s, and her hare 
brawny arms, which escaped from under her shawl, gave 
indications of great physical strength ; while there was 
that in the expression of her fierce black eye, and her finely 
formed mouth, which showed that there was no mere 
woman’s heart in that masculine form. 

The wild appearance and attire of the woman inspired 
Virginia with terror at first, but she suppressed the scream 
which rose to her lips, and in an agitated voice, she asked, 

“ What would you have with me, madam ?” 

“What are you frightened at, girl,” said the woman in a 
shrill, coarse voice, “ don’t you see that I am a woman ?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Virginia, trembling, “I am not 
frightened, ma’am.” 

“You are frightened — I see you are,” returned her 
strange guest. — “ But if you fear, you are not worthy to be 
the wife of a brave man — come, deny nothing — I can read 
you like a book — and easier, for it is but little that I know 
from books, except my Bible.” 

“Are you a gfpsey, ma’am ?”said Virginia, softly, for she 
had heard her father speak of that singular race of vagrants, 
and the person and language of the stranger corresponded 
with the idea which she had formed of them. 

“ A gipsey ! no, I am a Virginian — and a brave man’s 
wife, as you would be — but that prejudice and fear keep you 
still in Egyptian bondage. The time has come for woman 
to act her part in the world — and for you, Virginia Tem- 
ple, to act yours.” 

“But what would you have me to do ?” asked Virginia, 
surprised at the knowledge which the stranger seemed to 
possess of her history. 

“ Do 1” shrieked the woman, “your duty — that which 
every human creature, man or woman, is bound before high 
heaven to do. Aid in the great work which God this day 


156 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


calls upon his Israel to do — to redeem his people from cap- 
tivity and from the hand of those who smite us.” 

“ My good woman,” said Virginia, who now began to 
understand the character of the strange intruder, “ it is not 
for me, may I add, it is not for our sex to mingle in contests 
like the present. We can but humbly pray that He who 
controls the affairs of this world, may direct in virtue and in 
wisdom, the hearts of both rulers and people.” 

“And why should we only pray,” said the woman sternly, 
“when did Heaven ever answer prayer, except when our, 
own actions carried the prayer into effect. Have you not 
learned, have you not known, hath it not been told you from 
the foundation of the world, that faith without works was 
dead.” 

“But there is no part which a woman can consistently 
take in such a contest as the present, even should she so far 
forget her true duties as to wish to engage in it.” 

“ Girl, have you read your bible, or are you one of those 
children of the scarlet woman of Babylon, to whom the word 
of God is a closed book — to whom the waters from the foun- 
tain of truth can only come through the polluted lips of 
priests— as unclean birds feed their offspring. Do you not 
know that it was a woman, even Rahab, who saved the 
spies sent out from Shittem to view the land of promise ? 
Do you not know that Miriam joined with the hosts of Is- 
rael in the triumph of their deliverance from the hand of 
Pharaoh ? Do you not know that Deborah, the wife of 
Lapidoth, judged Israel, and delivered Jacob from the 
hands of Jabin, king of Canaan, and Sisera the captain of 
his host — and did not Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, 
rescue Israel from the hands of Sisera ? Surely she fastened 
the nail in a sure place, and the wife of Sisera, tarried long 
ere his chariot should come — and shall we in these latter 
days of Israel be less bold than they ? Tell me not of pray- 
ers, Virginia Temple, cowards alone pray blindly for assist- 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 157 

ance. It is the will of God that the brave should be often 
under Heaven, the answerers of their own prayers.” 

“And pray tell me,” said Yirginia, struck with the wild, 
biblical eloquence of the Puritan woman, “ why you have 
thus come to me among so many of the damsels of Yirginia, 
to urge me to engage in this enterprise.” 

“ Because I was sent. Because one of the captains of 
our host has sought the hand of Yirginia Temple. Ah, 
blush, maiden, for the blush of shame well becomes one who 
has deserted her lover, because he has laid aside every 
weight, and pressed forward to the prize of his high calling. 
Yet a little while, and the brave men of Yirginia will be 
here to show the malignant Berkeley, that the servant is not 
greater than his lord — that they who reared up this temple 
of his authority, can rase it to the ground and bury him in 
its ruins. I come from Thomas Hansford, to ask that you 
will under my guidance meet him where I shall appoint to- 
night.” 

“ This is most strange conduct on his part,” said Yii- 
ginia, flushing with indignation, “nor will I believe him 
guilty of it. Why did he entrust a message like this to you 
instead of writing ?” 

“ A warrior writes with his sword and in blood,” replied 
the woman. “ Think you that they who wander in the wil- 
derness, are provided with pen or ink to write soft words 
of love to silly maidens ? But he foresaw that you would 
refuse, and he gave me a token — I fear a couplet from a 
carnal song.” * 

“ What is it ?” cried Yirginia, anxiously. 


il ‘ I had not loved thee, dear, so much, 

Loved I not honour more/ ” 

said the woman, in a low voice. “ Thus the words run in 
my memory.” 


158 


the devoted bride. 


“And it is indeed a true token,” said Virginia," but once 
for all, I cannot consent to this singular request.” 

“ Decide not in haste, lest you repent at leisure,” returned 
the woman, “ I will come to-night at ten o’clock to receive 
your final answer. And regret not, Virginia Temple, that 
your fate is thus linked with a brave man. The babe un- 
born will yet bless the rising in this country— and children 
shall rise up and call us blest.* And, oh I as you would 
prove worthy of him who loves you, abide not thou like 
Reuben among the sheep-folds to hear the bleating of the 
flocks, and you will yet live to rejoice that you have turned 
a willing ear to the words and the counsel of Sarah Drum- 
mond.” 

There was a pause of some moments, during which Vir- 
ginia was wrapt in her own reflections concerning the sin- 
gular message of Hansford, rendered even more singular by 
the character and appearance of the messenger. Suddenly 
she was startled from her reverie by the blast of a trumpet, 
and the distant trampling of horses’ hoofs. Sarah Drum- 
mond also started at the sound, but not from the same 
cause, for she heard in that sound the blast of defiance — the 
trumpet ofi freedom, as its champions advanced to the 
charge. 

“ They come, they come,” she said, in her wild, shrill 
voice ; “ my Lord, my Lord, the chariots of Israel and the 
horsemen thereof — I go, like Miriam of old, to prophecy in 
their cause, and to swell their triumph. Farewell. Re- 
member, at ten o’clock to-night I return- for your final 
answer.” 

With these words she burst from the room, and Vir- 
ginia soon saw her tall form, with hasty strides, moving 
toward the place from which the sound proceeded. 

* This was her very language during the rebellion. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


159 


* 


CHAPTER XXI. 

u Men, high minded men, 

With powers as far above dull brutes endued, 

In forest, brake or den, 

As beasts excel cold rooks and brambles rude ; 

Men, who their duties know, 

But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain, 

These constitute a state/’ 

Sir William Jones. 

And nearer, and nearer, came the sound, and the cloud 
of dust which already rose in the street, announced their 
near approach. And then, Yirginia saw emerging from 
that cloud a proud figure, mounted on a splendid grey 
charger, which pranced and champed his bit, as though 
proud of the noble burden which he bore. And well he 
might be proud, for that young gallant rider was Nathaniel 
Bacon, a man who has left his name upon his country’s 
history, despite the efforts to defame him, as the very 
embodiment of the spirit of freedom. And he looked every 
inch a hero, as with kingly mien and gallant bearing he 
rode through that crowded street, the great centre of 
attraction to all. 

Beside him and around him were those, his friends and 
his companions, who had sworn to share his success, or to 
perish in the attempt. 

There was the burley Richard Lawrence, not yet bent 
under the weight of his growing years. There was Carver, 
the bold, intrepid and faithful Carver, whose fidelity yet 
lives historically in his rough, home-brewed answer to the 
Governor, that “ if he served the devil he would be true to 
his trust.” There too was the young and graceful form 
of one whose name has been honoured by history, and 
cherished by his descendants — whose rising glory has 


160 THE DEVOTED BKIDE. 

indeed been eclipsed by others of his name more success- 
ful, but not more worthy of success — nor can that long, 
pure cavalier lineage boast a nobler ancestor than the 
high-souled, chivalrous, and devoted Giles Bland. There 
too were Ingram, and Walklate, and Wilford, and Farloe, 
and Cheesman, and a host of others, whom time would fail 
us to mention, and yet, each one of whom, a pioneer in 
freedom’s cause, deserves to be freshly remembered. And 
there too, and the heart of Virginia Temple beat loud and 
quick as she beheld him, was the gallant Hansford, whom 
she loved so well ; and as she gazed upon his noble figure, 
now foremost in rebellion, the old love came back gushing 
into her heart, and she half forgave his grievous sin, and 
loved him as before. 

These all passed #n, and the well-regulated band of four 
hundred foot-soldiers, all armed and disciplined for action, 
followed on, ready and anxious to obey their noble leader, 
even unto death. Among these were many, who, through 
their lives had been known as loyalists, who upheld the 
councils of the colony in their long resistance to the usur- 
pation of the Protector, and who hailed the restoration of 
their king as a personal triumph to each and all. There 
too were those who had admired Cromwell, and sustained 
his government, and some few grey-headed veterans who 
even remembered to have fought under the banner of John 
Hampden — Cavaliers and Roundheads, Episcopalians and 
Dissenters; old men, who had heretofore passed through 
life regardless of the forms of government under which 
they lived ; and young men, whose ardent hearts burned 
high with the spirit of liberty — all these discordant ele- 
ments- had been united in the alembic of freedom, and 
hand-in-hand, and heart-in- heart, were preparing for the 
struggle. And Virginia Temple thought, as she gazed 
from the window upon their manly forms, that after all, 
rebellion was not confined to the ignoble and the base. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 161 

On, on, still on, and now they have reached the gate 
which is the grand entrance to the state-house square. 
The crowd of eager citizens throng after them, and with 
the fickle sympathy of the mob unite in loud shouts of 
“Long live Bacon, the Champion of Freedom.” Aad 
now they are drawn up in. bristling column before the hall 
of the assembly, while the windows are crowded thick with 
the pale, anxious faces of the astounded burgesses. But 
see ! the leaders dismount, and their horses are given in 
charge to certain of the soldiers. Conspicuous among 
them all is Nathaniel Bacon, from his proud and imperial 
bearing as he walks with impatient steps up and down the 
line, and reads their resolution in the faces of the men. 

“ What will he do I” is whispered from the white and 
agitated lips of the trembling burgesses. 

“ This comes of the faithless conduct of Berkeley,” says 
one. 

“Yes; I always said that Bacon should have his com- 
mission,” says another. 

“It is downright murder to deny him the right to save 
the colony from the savages,” says a third. 

“ And we must suffer for the offences of a despotic old 
dotard,” said the first speaker. 

“Say you so, masters,” cried out old Presley, wedging 
his huge form between two of his brethren at the window 
. — and all his loyalty of the preceding night having oozed 
out at his fingers' ends, like Bob Acres' courage, at the 
first approach of danger — “ say you so ; then, by God, 
it is my advice to let him put out the fire of his own 
raising.” 

But see there! Bacon and his staff are conferring to- 
gether. It will soon be known what is his determination. 
It is already read in his fierce and angry countenance as 
he draws his sword half way from its scabbard, and frowns 
upon the milder councils of Hansford and Bland. Pre- 
10 


162 THE DEVOTED BRIDE- 

sently a servant of one of the members comes in with pale, 
affrighted looks, and whispers to his master. He has 
overheard the words of Bacon, which attended that 
ominous gesture. 

“ I will bear a little while. But when you see my sword 
drawn from my scabbard, thus, let that be the signal for 
attack. Then strike for freedom, for truth, and for 
justice.” 

The burgesses look in wild alarm at each other. What 
is to be done ? It were vain to resist. They are unarmed. 
The rebels more than quadruple Governor, Council, and 
Assembly. Let those suffer who have incurred the wrath 
of freemen. Let the lightning fall upon him who has called 
it down. For ourselves, let us make peace. 

In a moment a white handkerchief suspended on the 
usher’s rod streams from the window, an emblem of peace, 
an advocate for mercy, and with one accordant shout, 
which rings through the halls of the state-house, the 
burgesses declare that he shall have his commission. 

* Bacon sees the emblem. He hears the shout. His dark 
eye flashes with delight as he hails this bloodless victory 
over the most formidable department of the government. 
The executive dare not hold out against the will of the 
Assembly. But the victory is not yet consummated. 

Suddenly from the lips of the excited soldiery comes a 
wild cry, and following the direction of their eyes, he sees 
Sir William Berkeley standing at the open window of the 
Council Chamber. Yes, there stands the proud old man, 
with form erect and noble — his face somewhat paler, and 
his eagle eye somewhat brighter than usual. But those 
are the only signs he gives of emotion, as he looks down 
upon that hostile crowd, with a smile of bitter scorn 
encircling his lip. He quails not, he blenches not, before 
that angry foe. His pulse beats calmly and regularly, for 
it is under the control of the brave great heart, which 
% 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 163 

knows no fear. And there he stands, all calm and silent, 
like a firm-set rock that defies in its iron strength the fury 
of the storm that beats against it. 

'Yet Berkeley is in danger. He is the object, the sole 
object, of the bitter hate of that incensed and indignant 
soldiery. He has pledged and he has broken his word to 
them, and when did broken faith ever fail to arouse the 
indignation of Yirginians ? He has denied them the right 
to protect, by organized force, their homes and their fire- 
sides from the midnight attacks of ruthless savages. He 
has advised the passage of laws restricting their commerce, 
and reducing the value of their staples. He has urged the 
erection of forts throughout the colony, armed with a 
regular soldiery, supported in their idleness by the industry 
of Virginians, and whose sole object is to check the kindling 
flame of liberty among the people. He has sanctioned and 
encouraged the exercise of power by Parliament to tax an 
unrepresented colony. He has advised and upheld His 
Majesty in depriving the original patentees of immense 
tracts of land, and lavishing them as princely donations 
upon fawning favourites. He has refused to represent to 
the king the many grievances of the colony, and to urge 
their redress, and, although thus showing himself to be a 
tyrant over a free people, he has dared to urge, through 
his servile commissioners, his appointment as Governor for 
life. 

Such were some of the many causes of discontent among 
the colonists which had so inflamed them against Sir 
William Berkeley. And now, there he stood before them, 
calm in spite of their menaces, unrelenting in spite of their 
remonstrances. Without a word of command, and with 
one accord a hundred fusils were pointed at the breast of 
the brave old Governor. It was a moment of intense 
excitement — of terrible suspense. But even then his cour- 
age and his self-reliance forsook him not. Tearing open 


164 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

his vest, and presenting himself at the window more fully 
to their attack, he cried out in a firm voice : 

“ Aye, shoot ! ’Fore God, a fair mark. Infatuated 
men, bury your wrongs here in my heart. I dare you to 
do your worst !” 

“ Down with your guns 1” shouted Bacon, angrily. But 
it needed not the order of their leader to cause them to 
drop their weapons in an instant. The calm smile which 
still played around the countenance of the old Governor, 
the unblenching glance of that eagle eye, and the unawed 
manner in which he dared them to revenge, all had their 
effect in allaying the resentment of the soldiers. And with 
this came the memory of the olden time, when he was so 
beloved by his people, because so just and gentle. Some- 
thing of this old feeling now returned, and as they lowered 
their weapons a tear glistened in many a hardy soldier’s 
eye. 

With the quick perception of true genius, Nathaniel 
Bacon saw the effect produced. Well aware of the vola- 
tile materials with which he had to work, he dreaded a 
revolution in the feelings of the men. Anxious to smother 
the smouldering ashes of loyalty before they were fanned 
into a flame, he cried with a loud voice, 

“ Not a hair of your head shall be touched. No, nor 
of any man’s. I come for justice, not for vengeance. I 
come to plead for the mercy which ill-judged and cruel delay 
has long denied this people. I come to plead for the liv- 
ing — my argument may be heard from the dead. The 
voices of murdered Englishmen call to you from the ground. 
We demand a right, guarantied by the sacred and inviolable 
law of self-preservation ! A right ! guarantied by the 
plighted but violated word of an English knight and a 
Virginia Governor. A right I which I now hold by the 
powerful, albeit unwritten, sanction of these, the sovereigns 
of Virginia.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


105 


Thq last artful allusion of Bacon entirely restored the 
confidence of his soldiers, and with loud cries they shouted 
in chorus, “ And we will have it 1 — we will have it I” 

Berkeley listened patiently to this brief address, and then 
turned from the window where he was standing, and took 
his seat at the council-table. Here, too, he was surrounded 
by many who, either alarmed at the menaces of the rebels, 
and convinced of the futility of resisting their demands, or, 
what is more probable, who had a secret sympathy in the 
causes of the rebellion, exerted all their influence in molli- 
fying the wrath and obstinacy of the old Governor. But 
it was all in vain. To every argument or persuasion which 
was urged, his only reply was, 

“ To have forced from me by rebels the trust confided in 
me by my king ! To yield to force what I denied to peti- 
tion ! No, Gentlemen ; Tore God, if the authority of my 
master’s government must be overcome in Virginia, let me 
perish with it. I wish no higher destiny than to be a mar- 
tyr, like my royal master, Charles the First, to the cause 
of truth and justice. Let them rob me of my life when they 
rob me of my trust.” 

While thus the councillors were vainly endeavoring to 
persuade the old man to yield to the current which had so 
set against him, he was surprised by a slight touch on his 
shoulder, and on looking up he saw Alfred Bernard stand- 
ing before him. The young man bent over, and in a low 
whisper uttered these significant words : 

“ The commission, extorted by force, is null and void 
when the duress is removed.” 

Struck by a view so apposite to his condition, and so 
entirely tallying with his own wishes, the impetuous old 
Governor fairly leaped from his chair and grasped the hand 
of his young adviser. 

“Right, by God!” he said; “right, my son. Gentle- 
men, this young man’s counsel is worth all of your’s. Out 


166 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


of the mouth of babes and sucklings — however, Alfred, you 
would not relish a compliment paid at the expense of your 
manhood.” 

“ What does the young man propose ?” drawled the 
phlegmatic old Cole, who was one of the council board. 

“ That I should yield to the current when I must, and 
resist it when I can,” cried Berkeley, exultingly. “ Loyalty 
must only bow to the storm, as the tree bows before the 
tempest. The most efficient resistance is apparent con- 
cession.” 

The councillors were astounded. Sprung from that 
chivalric Anglo-Saxon race, who respected honour more 
than life, and felt a stain like a wound, they could scarcely 
believe their senses when they thus heard the Governor of 
Virginia recommending deceit and simulation to secure his 
safety. To them, rebellion was chiefly detestable because 
it was an infraction of the oath of loyalty. It could 
scarcely be more base than the premeditated perjury which 
Sir William contemplated. Many an angry eye and dark 
scowl was bent on Alfred Bernard, who met them with an 
easy and defiant air. The silence that ensued expressed 
more clearly than words the disapprobation of the council. 
At length old Ballard, one of the most loyal and esteemed 
members of the council, hazarded an expression of his 
views. 

“ Sir William Berkeley, let me advise you as your coun- 
sellor, and warn you as your friend, to avoid the course 
prescribed by that young man. What effect can your bad 
faith with these misguided persons have, but to exasperate 
them ? — and when once aroused, and once deceived, be 
assured that all attempts at reconciliation will be vain. I 
speak plainly, but I do so because not only your own safety, 
but the peace and prosperity of the colony are involved in 
your decision. Were not the broken pledges of that 
unhappy Stuart, to whom you have referred, the causes of 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 167 

that fearful revolution which alienated the affections of his 
subjects and at length cost him his life ? Charles Stuart 
has not died in vain, if, by his death and his sufferings, he 
has taught his successors in power that candour, moderation 
and truth are due from a prince to his people. But, alas ! 
what oceans of blood must be shed ere man will learn those 
useful lessons, which alone can ensure his happiness and 
secure his authority. ” 

“ Zounds, Ballard,” said the incensed old ruler, “you 
have mistaken your calling. I have not heard so fine a 
sermon this many a day, and, ’fore God, if you will only 
renounce politics, and don gown and cassock, I will have 
you installed forthwith in my dismal Hutchinson’s living. 
But,” he added, more seriously, as the smile of bitter deri- 
sion faded from his lips, “ I well e’en tell you that you have 
expressed yourself a matter too freely, and have forgotten 
what you owe to position and authority.” 

“ I have forgotten neither, sir,” said Ballard, firmly but 
calmly.' " I owe respect to position, even though I may 
not have it for the man who holds that position ; and when 
authority is abused, I owe it alike to myself and to the peo- 
ple to check it so far as I may.” 

The flush of passion mounted to the brow of Berkeley, 
as he listened to these words ; but with a violent effort he 
checked the angry retort which rose to his lips, and turning 
to the rest of the council, he said : 

“ Well, gentlemen, I will submit the proposition to you. 
Shall the commission of General of the forces of Virginia 
be granted to Nathaniel Bacon ?” 

“Nay, Governor,” interposed another of the council, 
“ we would know whether you intend — ” 

“ It is of my actions that you must advise. Leave my 
motives to me. What do you advise ? Shall the commis 
sion be granted ?” 

“ Aye,” was responded in turn by each of the council 


168 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

lors at the board, and at the same moment the heavy tramp 
of approaching footsteps was heard, and Bacon, attended 
by Lawrence, Bland and Hansford, entered the chamber. 

The council remained seated and covered, and preserved 
the most imperturbable silence. It was a scene not unlike 
that of that ancient senate, w T ho, unable to resist the attack 
of barbarians, evinced their pride and bravery by their con- 
temptuous silence. The sun was shining brightly through 
the western windows of the chamber, and his glaring rays, 
softened and coloured by the rich red curtains of damask, 
threw a deeper flush upon the cheeks of the haughty old 
councillors. With their eyes fixed upon the intruders, they 
patiently awaited the result of the interview. On the other 
hand, the attitude and behaviour of the rebels was not less 
calm and dignified. They had evidently counselled well 
before they had determined to intrude thus upon the delibe- 
rations of the council. It was with no angry or impatient 
outburst of passion, with no air of triumph, that they came. 
They knew their rights, and had come to claim and main- 
tain them. 

There were two men there, and they the youngest of 
that mixed assembly, who viewed each other with looks 
of darker hatred than the rest. The wound inflicted in 
Hansford’s heart at Windsor Hall had not yet been healed 
— and with that tendency to injustice so habitual to lovers, 
with the proclivity of all men to seek out some one whom 
they may charge as the author of their own misfortune, he 
viewed Bernard with feelings of distrust and enmity. He 
felt, too, or rather he feared, that the heart left vacant by 
his own exclusion from it, might be filled with this young 
rival. Bernard, on the other hand, had even stronger reason 
of dislike, and if suph motives could operate even upon the 
noble mind of Hansford, with how much greater force 
would they impress the selfish character of the young 
jesuit. The recollection of that last scene with Virginia 


TIIE DEVOTED BRIDE. 169 

in the park, of her unwavering devotion to her rebel lover, 
and her disregard of his own feelings came upon him now 
with renewed force, as he saw that rebel rival stand before 
him. Even if filial regard for her father’s wishes and a 
sense of duty to herself would forever prevent her alliance 
with Hansford, Alfred Bernard felt that so long as his rival 
lived there was an insuperable obstacle to his acquisition 
of her,estate, an object which he prized even more than her 
love. Thus these two young men darted angry glances at 
each other, and forgot in their own personal aggrieveraents, 
the higher principles for which they were engaged of loy- 
alty on the one hand, and liberty on the other. 

Bacon was the first to break silence. 

“Methinks,” he said, “that your honours are not inclined 
to fall into the error of deciding in haste and repenting at 
leisure.” 

“Mr. Bacon,” said Berkeley, “you must be aware that 
the appearance of this armed force tends to prejudice your 
claims. It would be indecorous in me to be overawed by 
menaces, or to yield to compulsion. But the necessities of 
the time demand that there should be an organized force, 
to resist the encroachments of the Indians. It is, there- 
fore, not from fear of your threats, but from conviction of 
this necessity that I have determined to grant you the com- 
mission which you ask, with full power to raise, equip, and 
provision an army, and with instructions, that you forthwith 
proceed to march against the savages.” 

Bacon could scarcely suppress a smile at this boastful 
appearance of authority and disavowal of compulsion, on 
the part of the proud old Governor. It was with a thrill 
of rapture that he thus at last possessed the great object of 
his wishes. Already idolized by the people, he only needed 
a legal recognition of his authority to accomplish the great 
ends that he had in view. As the commission was made 
out in due form, engrossed and sealed, and handed to him, 


170 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

he clutched it eagerly, as though it were a sceptre of royal 
power. Little suspecting the design of the wily Governor, 
he felt all his confidence in him restored at once, and from 
his generous heart he forgave him all the past. 

“ This commission, though military,” he said, proudly, 
** is the seal of restored tranquillity to the colony. Think 
not it will be perverted to improper uses. Royalty is to 
Yirginians what the sun is to the pious Persian. Virginia 
was the last to desert the setting sun of royalty, and still 
lingered piously and tearfully to look upon its declining 
rays. She was the first to hail the glorious restoration of 
its light, and as she worshipped its rising beams, she will 
never seek to quench or overcloud its meridian lustre. I go, 
gentlemen, to restore peace to the fireside and confidence 
to the hearts of this people. The sword of my country 
shall never be turned against herself. ” 

The heightened colour of his cheek, and the bright flash- 
ing of his eye, bespoke the pride and delight of his heart. 
With a profound bow he turned from the room, and with 
his aids, he descended to rejoin his anxious and expectant 
* followers. In a few moments the loud shout of the soldiery 
was heard testifying their satisfaction at the result. The 
names of Berkeley and of Bacon were upon their lips — and 
as the proud old Governor gazed from the window at that 
happy crowd, and saw with the admiring eye of a brave 
man, the tall and martial form of Nathaniel Bacon at their 
head, he scarcely regretted in that moment that his loyal 
name had been linked with the name of a traitor. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


171 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ Me glory summons to the martial scene, 

The field of combat is the sphere of men j 
Where heroes war the foremost place I claim, 

The first in danger, as the first in fame.” 

Pope’s Iliad. 

.. 1 ' ' 

We return to Virginia Temple, who, although not an 
eye-witness of the scene which we have just described, was 
far from being disinterested in its result. The words of 
the singular woman, with whom she had conversed, had 
made some impression upon her mind. Although dis- 
gusted with the facility with which Dame Drummond had 
distorted and perverted Scripture to justify her own wild 
absurdities, Virginia still felt that there was much cause 
for self-reproach in her conduct to her lover. She felt 
every assurance that though he might err, he would err 
from judgment alone ; and how little did she know of the 
questions at issue between the aroused people and the 
government. Indeed, when she saw the character of those 
with whom Hansford was associated — men not impelled by 
the blind excitement of a mob, but evidently actuated by 
higher principles of right and justice, her heart misgave 
her that, perhaps, she had permitted prejudice to carry her 
too far in her opposition to their cause. The struggle in 
her mind was indeed an unequal one. It was love plead- 
ing against ignorant prejudice, and that at the forum of a 
woman’s heart. Can it be wondered at that Virginia 
Temple, left to herself, without an adviser, yielded to the 
powerful plea, and freely and fully forgave her rebel lover ? 


172 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


And when she thought, too, that, however guilty to 
his country, he had, at least, been ever faithful to her, 
she added to her forgiveness of him the bitterest self- 
reproach. On one thing she was resolved, that notwith- 
standing the apparent indelicacy of such a course, she 
would grant him the interview which he requested, and if 
she could not win him from his error, at least part from 
him, though forever, as a friend. She felt that it was due 
to her former love, and to his unwavering devotion, to 
grant this last request. 

Once determined on her course, the hours rolled heavily 
away until the time fixed for her appointment with Hans- 
ford. Despite her attempt to prove cheerful and uncon- 
cerned, her lynx-eyed mother detected her sadness, but was 
easily persuaded that it was due to a slight head-ache, with 
which she was really suffering, and which she pleaded as 
an excuse. The old lady was more easily deceived, because 
it tallied with her own idea, that Jamestown was very 
unhealthy, and that she, herself, could never breathe its 
unwholesome air without the most disastrous consequences 
to her health. 

At length, Colonel Temple, having left the crowd of 
busy politicians, who were discussing the events of the 
day in the hall, returned with his good wife to their own 
room. Virginia, with a beating heart, resumed her watch 
at the window, where she was to await the coming of 
Sarah Drummond. It was a warm, still night. Scarcely 
a breath of air was stirring the leaves of the long line of 
elms that adorned the street. She sat watching the silent 
stars, and wondering if those bright worlds contained scenes 
of sorrow and despair like this ; or were they but the pure 
mansions which the Comforter was preparing in his 
heavenly kingdom for those disconsolate children of earth 
who longed for that peace which he had promised when he 
told his trusting disciples “ Let not your heart be troubled, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 173 

neither let it be afraid.” How apt are the sorrowing souls 
of earth to look thus into the blue depths of heaven, and 
in their selfishness to think that Nature, with her host of 
created beings, was made for them. She chose from 
among those shining worlds, one bright and trembling star, 
which stood apart, and there transported on the wings of 
Fancy or Faith, she lived in love and peace with Hansford. 
Sweet was that star-home to the trusting girl, as. she 
watched it in its slow and silent course through heaven. 
Free from the cares which vex the spirit in this dark sin- 
world, that happy star was filled with love, and the blissful 
pair who knew it as their home, felt no change, save in the 
“ grateful vicissitude of pleasure and repose.” Such was the 
picture w T hich the young girl, with the pencil of hope, and 
the colours of fancy painted for her soul’s eye. But as she 
gazed, the star faded from her sight, and a dark and heavy 
cloud lowered from the place where it had stood. 

At the same moment, as if the vision in which she had 
been rapt was something more than a dream, the door of 
her chamber opened, and Sarah Drummond entered. The 
heart of Virginia Temple nearly failed her, as she thought 
of the coincidence in time of the disappearance of the star 
and the summons to her interview with Hansford. Her 
companion marked her manner, and in a more gentle voice 
than she had yet assumed, she said, 

“ Why art thou cast down, maiclen ? Let not your 
heart sink in the performance of a duty. Have you 
decided ?” 

“ Must I meet him alone ?” asked Virginia. “ Oh, how 
could he make a request so hard to be complied with 1” 

“ Alone !” said Sarah, with a sneer. “ Yes, silly girl, 
reared in the school that would teach that woman’s virtue 
is too frail even to be tempted. Yes, alone ! She who 
cannot trust her honour to a lover, knows but little of the 
true power of love.” 




174 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ I will follow you,” replied Virginia, firmly, and throw- 
ing a shawl loosely around her, she rose from her seat and 
prepared to go. 

“ Come on, then,” said Sarah, quickly, “there is no time 
to be lost. In an hour, at most, the triumphant defenders 
of right will be upon their march.” 

The insurgents, wearied with their long march the night 
and day before, and finding no accommodation for their 
numbers in the inn, or elsewhere, had determined to seek a 
few hours repose in the green lawn surrounding the state- 
house, previous to their night march upon the Indians. It 
was here that Hansford had appointed to meet and bid 
farewell to his betrothed Virginia. Half leading, half 
dragging the trembling girl, who had already well nigh 
repented her resolution, Sarah Drummond walked rapidly 
down the street, in the direction of the state-house. 
Arrived ^t the gate, their further progress was arrested by 
a rough, uncouth sentinel, who in a coarse voice demanded 
who they were. 

“I am Sarah Drummond,” said the woman, promptly, 
“and this young maiden would speak with Major Hans- 
ford.” 

“ Why, ’stains, dame, what has become of all your reli- 
gion, that you should turn ribibe on our hands, and be 
bringing young hoydens this time o’ night to the officers. 
For shame, Dame Drummond.” 

“ Berkenhead,” cried the woman, fiercely, “*we all know 
you for a traitor and a blasphemer, who serve but for the 
loaves and fishes, and not for the pure word. You gained 
your liberty, you know, by betraying your fellows in the 
insurrection of ’ 62 , and are a base pensioner upon the 
bounty of the Assembly for your cowardice and treason. 
But God often maketh the carnal-minded of this world to 
fulfil his will, and so we must e’en bear with you yet a little 
while. Come, let us pass.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 175 

“ Nay, dame,” said the old soldier, “ I care but little for 
your abuse ; but duty is duty, and so an’ ye give me not 
the shibboleth, as old Noll’s canters would say, you may 
e’en tramp back. You see, I’ve got some of your slang, 
and will fight the devil with his own fire : ‘ And there fell 
of the children of Ephraim, at the passage of the Jor- 
dan — ’ ” 

“ Hush, blasphemer 1” said Sarah, impatiently. “ But 
if you must have the pass before you can admit us, take it.” 
And she leaned forward and whispered in his ear the words, 
“Be faithful to the cause.” 

“ Right as a trivet,” said Berkenhead, “ and so pass on. 
A fig for the consequences, so that my skirts are clear.” 

Relieved from this embarrassment, Sarah Drummond 
and her trembling companion passed through the gate, and 
proceeded up the long gravelled walk which led to the 
state-house. They had not gone far before Virginia Temr 
pie descried a dark form approaching them, and even 
before she could recognize the features, her heart told her 
it was Hansford. In another moment she was in his arms. 

“ My own Virginia, my loved one,” he cried, regardless 
of the presence of Mrs. Drummond, “ I scarcely dared 
hope that you would have kept your promise to say fare- 
well. Come, dearest, lean on my arm, I have much to 
tell you. You, my kind dame, remain here for a few 
moments — we will not detain you long.” 

Quietly yielding to his request, Virginia took her lover’s 
arm, and they walked silently along the path, leaving the 
good dame Drummond to digest alone her crude notions 
about the prospects of Israel. 

“ Is it not singular,” said Hansford at length, “ that 
before you came, I thought the brief hour we must spend 
together was far too short to say half that I wish, and now 
I can say nothing. The quiet feeling of love, of pure and 
tranquil love, banishes every other thought from my heart.” 


176 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ I fear — I fear,” murmured Virginia, “ that I have done 
very wrong in 'consenting to this interview.” 

“ And why, Virginia,” said her lover, “ even the male- 
factor is permitted the poor privilege of bidding fare- 
well forever to those around him — and am I worse 
than he?” 

“No, Hansford, no,” replied Virginia, “but to come 
thus with a perfect stranger, at night, and without my 
father’s permission, to an interview with one who has met 
with his disapprobation — ” 

“ True love,” replied Hansford, sadly, “ overleaps all 
such feeble barriers as these — where the happiness of the 
loved one is concerned.” 

“And, therefore, I came,” returned the young girl, “but 
you forget, Hansford, that the relation which once existed 
between us has, by our mutual consent, been dissolved — 
what then was proper cannot now be permitted.” 

“ If such be the case,” replied Hansford, in an offended 
tone, “ Miss Temple must be aware that I am the last 
person to urge her to continue in a course which her 
judgment disapproves. May I conduct you to your com- 
panion ?” 

Virginia did not at first reply. The coldness of man- 
ner which she had assumed was far from being consonant 
with her real feelings, and the ingenuous girl could no 
longer continue the part which she attempted to represent. 
After a brief pause, the natural affection of her nature 
triumphed, and with the most artless frankness she said, 

“ Oh, no, Hansford, my tongue can no longer speak 
other language than that which my heart dictates. For- 
give me for what I have said. We cannot part thus.” 

“ Thanks, my dearest girl,” he cried. “ for this assurance. 
The future is already too dark, for the light of hope to be 
entirely withdrawn. These troublous times will soon be 
over, and then — ” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 177 

" Hay, Hansford,” said Virginia, interrupting him, " I 
fear you cannot even then hope for that happiness which 
you profess to anticipate in our union. These things I have 
thought of deeply and sorrowfully. Whatever may be the 
issue of this unnatural contest, to us the result must be the 
same. My father’s prejudices — and without his consent, I 
would never yield my hand to any one — are so strong 
against your cause, that come what may, they can never be 
removed.” 

“ He must himself, ere long, see the justice of our cause,” 
said Hansford, confidently. “It is impossible that truth 
can long be hid from one, who, like your noble father, must 
ever be desirous of its success.” 

“And do you think,” returned Virginia, “that having 
failed to arrive at your conclusions in his moments of calm 
reflection, he will be apt to change his opinions under the 
more formidable reasoning of the bayonet? Believe me, 
Hansford, that scenes like those which we have this day 
witnessed, can never reconcile the opposing parties in this 
unhappy strife.” 

“ It is true, too true,” said Hansford, sorrowfully ; “ and 
is there then no hope ?” 

“ Yes, there is a hope,” said Virginia, earnestly. “ Let 
not the foolish pride of consistency prevent you from 
acknowledging an error when committed. Boldly and man- 
fully renounce the career into which impulse has driven you. 
Return to your allegiance — to your ancient faith ; and be- 
lieve me, that Virginia Temple will rejoice more in your 
repentance than if all the honours of martial glory, or of 
civic renown, were showered upon you. She would rather 
be the trusting wife of the humble and repentant servant of 
his king, than the queen of a sceptered usurper, who clam- 
bered to the throne through the blood of the martyrs of 
faith and loyalty.” 

11 


178 the devoted bride. 

“ Oh, Virginia !” said Hansford, struggling hard between 
duty and love. 

“ I know it is hard to conquer the fearful pride of your 
heart, ” said Virginia ; “ but, Hansford, ’tis a noble courage 
that is victorious in such a contest. Let me hear your 
decision. There is a civil war in your heart,” she added, 
more playfully, “ and that rebel pride must succumb to the 
strong arm of your own self-government.” 

“ In God’s name, tempt me no further !” cried Hansford. 
“We may well believe that man lost his high estate of 
happiness by the allurements of woman, since even now the 
cause of truth is endangered by listening to her per- 
suasions.” 

“ I had hoped,” replied the young girl, aroused by this 
sudden change of manner on the part of her lover, “ that 
the love which you have so long professed was something 
more than mere profession. But be it so. The first sacri- 
fice which you have ever been called upon to make has 
estranged your heart forever, and you toss aside the love 
which you pretended so fondly to cherish, as a toy no longer 
worthy of your regard.” 

“ This is unkind, Virginia,” returned Hansford, in an 
injured tone. “ I have not deserved this at your hands. 
Sorely you have tempted me ; but, thank God, not even the 
sweet hope which you extend can allure me from my duty. 
If my country demand the sacrifice of my heart, then let 
the victim be bound upon her altar. The sweet memories 
of the past, the love which still dwells in that heart, the 
crushed hopes of the future, will all unite to form the sad 
garland to adorn it for the sacrifice.” 

The tone of deep melancholy with which Hansford 
uttered these words showed how painful had been the 
struggle through which he had passed. It had its effect, 
too, upon the heart of Virginia. She felt how cruel had 
been her language just before — how unjust had been her 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


179 


charge of inconstancy. She saw at once the fierce contest 
in Hansford’s breast, in which duty had triumphed over 
love. Ingenuous as she ever was, she acknowledged her 
fault, and wept, and was forgiven. 

“ And now,” said Hansford, more calmly, “my own Vir- 
ginia — for I may still call you so — in thus severing forever 
the chain which has bound us, I do not renounce my love, 
nor the deep interest which I feel in your future destiny. I 
love you too dearly to wish that you should still love me ; 
find elsewhere some one more worthy than I to fill your 
heart. Forget that you ever loved me ; if you can, forget 
that you ever knew me. And yet, as a friend, let me warn 
you, with all the sincerity of my heart, to beware of Alfred 
Bernard. ” 

“ Of whom ?” asked Virginia, in surprise. 

“ Of that serpent, who, with gilded crest and subtle 
guile, would intrude into the garden of your heart,” con- 
tinued Hansford, solemnly. 

“Why, Hansford,” said Virginia, “you scarcely know 
the young man of whom you speak. Like you, my friend, 
my affections are buried in the past. I can never love 
again. But yet I would not have you wrong with unjust 
suspicions one who has never done you wrong. On the 
contrary, even in my brief intercourse with him, his conduct 
towards you has been courteous and generous.” 

“ How hard is it for innocence to suspect guile,” said 
Hansford. “ My sweet girl, these very professions of 
generosity towards me, have but sealed my estimate of 
his character. For me he entertains the deadliest hate. 
Against me he has sworn the deadliest vengeance. I tell 
you, Virginia, that if ever fondly nature implanted an in- 
stinct in the human heart to warn it of approaching danger, 
she did so when first I looked upon that man. My subse- 
quent knowledge of him but strengthened this intuition. 


180 THE DEVOTED BE IDE. 

Mild, insinuating, and artful, he is more to be feared than 
an open foe. I dread a villain when I see him smile.” 

“ Hush ! we are overheard,” said Yirginia, trembling, 
and looking around, Hansford saw Arthur Hutchinson, 
the preacher, emerging from the shadow of an adjacent 
elm tree. 

“ Young gentleman,” said Hutchinson, in his soft melo- 
dious voice, “I have heard unwillingly what perhaps I 
should not. He who would speak in the darkness of the 
night as you have spoken of an absent man, does not care 
to have many auditors.” 

“ And he who would screen himself in that darkness, to 
hear what he should not,” retorted Hansford, haughtily, 
“ is not the man to resent what he has heard, I fear. But 
what I say, I am ready to maintain with my sword — and 
if you be a friend of the individual of whom I have spoken, 
and choose to espouse his quarrel, let me conduct this 
young lady to a place of safety, and I will return to grant 
such satisfaction as you or your principal may desire.” 

“ This young maiden will tell you,” said Hutchinson, 
“ that I am not one of those who ^acknowledge that bloody 
arbiter between man and man, to which you refer.” 

“ Oh, no I” cried Yirginia, in an agitated voice ; “this is 
the good parson Hutchinson, of whom you have heard.” 

“And you, maiden,” said Hutchinson, “are not in the 
path of duty. Think you it is either modest or becoming, 
to leave your parents and your home, and seek a clandes- 
tine interview with this stranger. Return to your home. 
You have erred, grossly erred in this.” 

“ Nay,” cried Hansford, in a threatening voice, “if you 
say ought in reproach of this young lady, by heavens, your 
parson’s coat will scarce protect you from the just punish- 
ment of your insolence ;” then suddenly checking himself, 
he added, “Forgive me, sir, this hasty folly. I believe 
you mean well, although your language is something of the 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 181 

most offensive. And say to your friend Mr. Bernard, all 
that you have heard, and tell him for Major Hansford, that 
there is an account to be settled between us, which I have 
not forgotten.” 

“ Hansford 1” cried the preacher, with emotion, “ Hans- 
ford, did you say ? Look ye,, sir, I am a minister of peace, 
and cannot on my conscience bear your hostile message. 
But I warn you, if your name indeed be Hansford, that 
you are in danger from the young man of whom you speak. 
His blood is hot, his arm is skilful, and towards you his 
purpose is not good.” 

“ I thank you for your timely warning, good sir,” re- 
turned Hansford, haughtily ; “ but you speak of danger to 
one who regards it not.” Then turning to Virginia, he 
said in a low voice, “ ’Tis at least a blessing, that the des- 
pair which denies to the heart the luxury of love, at least 
makes it insensible to fear.” 

“And are you such an one,” said Hutchinson, overhear- 
ing him ; “ and is it on thee that the iniquities of the father 
will be visited. Forbid it, gracious heaven, and forgive as 
thou would’st have me forgive the sins of the past. ” 

“Mr. Hutchinson,” said Hansford, annoyed by the 
preacher’s solemn manner and mysterious words, “I 
know nothing, and care little for all this mystery. Your 
brain must be a little disordered — for I assure you, that as I 
was born in the colony, and you are but a recent settler 
here, it is impossible that there can be any such mysterious 
tie between us as that at which you so darkly hint.” 

“ The day may come,” replied Hutchinson, in the same 
solemn manner, “ when you will know all to your cost — 
and when you may find that care and sorrow can indeed 
shake reason on her throne.” 

“Well, be it so, but as you value your safety, urge me 
no further with these menaces. But pardon me, how came 
you in this enclosure ? Know you not that you are within 


182 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

the boundaries of 1 the General’s camp, against his strict 
orders ?” 

“Aye,” replied the preacher, “I knew that the rebels 
were encamped hereabout, but I did not, and do not, see 
by what right they can impede a peaceful citizen in his 
movements.” 

“Reverend sir,” said Hansford, “you have the reputa- 
tion of having a sound head on your shoulders, and should 
have a prudent tongue in your head. I would advise 
you, therefore, to refrain from the too frequent use of that 
word ‘ rebel,’ which just fell from you. But it is time we 
should part. I will conduct you to the gate lest you find 
some difficulty in passing the sentry, and you will oblige 
me, kind sir, by seeing this young lady to her home.” 
Then turning to Virginia, he whispered his brief adieu, 
and imprinting a long, warm kiss upon her lips, he led the 
way in silence to the gate. Here they parted. She to 
return to her quiet chamber to mourn over hopes, thus fled 
forever, and he to forget self and sorrow in the stirring 
events of martial life. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


183 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

u In the service of mankind to be 
A guardian god below ; still to employ 
The mind’s brave ardour in heroic aims, 

Such as may raise us o’er the grovelling herd 
And make us shine forever — that is life.” 

Thomson . 

In a short time the bustle and stir in the camp of the 
insurgents announced that their little army was about to 
commence its march. Nathaniel Bacon rode slowly along 
Stuart street, at the head of the soldiery, and leaving 
Jamestown to the east, extended his march towmrds the 
falls of James river. Here, he had received intelligence 
that the hostile tribes had gathered to a head, and he deter- 
mined without delay to march upon them unawares, and 
with one decisive blow to put an end to the war. Flushed 
with triumph, he thought, the soldiery would more willingly 
and efficiently turn their arms against the government, and 
aid in carrying out his darling project of effecting some 
organic changes in the charter of the colony ; if, indeed, it 
was not already his purpose to dissolve the political con- 
nection of Yirginia with the mother country. 

The little party rode on in silence for several miles, for 
each was buried in his own reflections. Bacon, with his 
own peculiar views of ambition and glory, felt but little 
sympathy with those who united in the rebellion for the 
specific object of a march against the savages. Hansford 
was meditating on the heavy sacrifice which he had made 
for his country’s service, and striving to see, in the dim 
future, some gleam of hope which might cheer him in his 
gloom. Lawrence and Drummond, the two most influential 


184 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


leaders in the movement, had been left behind in Jamestown, 
their place of residence, to watch the movements of Berke- 
ley, in whose fair promises none of the insurgents seemed 
to place implicit confidence. The rest of the little party 
had already exhausted in discussion the busy events of the 
day, and remained silent from want of material for conver- 
sation. 

At length, however, Bacon, whose knowledge of human 
nature had penetrated the depths of Hansford’s heart, and 
who felt deeply for his favourite, gave him the signal to 
advance somewhat in front of their comrades, and the fol- 
lowing conversation took place : 

“ And so, my friend,” said Bacon, in the mild, winning 
voice, which he knew so well how to assume ; “ and so, my 
friend, you have renounced your dearest hopes in life for 
this glorious enterprise.” 

Hansford only answered with a sigh. 

“ Take it not thus hardly,” continued Bacon. “ Think 
of your loss as a sacrifice to liberty. Look to the future 
for your happiness, to a redeemed and liberated country 
for your home — to glory as your bride.” 

“ Alas 1” said Hansford, “ glory could never repay the 
loss of happiness. Believe me, General, that personal fame 
is not what I covet. Far better would it be for me to have 
been born and reared in obscurity, and to pass my brief 
life with those I love, than for the glittering bauble, glory, 
to give up all that is dear to the heart.” 

“ And do you repent the course you have taken,” asked 
Bacon, with some surprise. 

“ Repent ! no ; God forbid that I should repent of any 
sacrifice which I have made to the cause of my country. 
But it is duty that prompts me, not glory. For as to this 
selfsame will-o’-the-wisp, which seems to allure so many 
from happiness, I trust it not. I am much of the little 
Prince Arthur’s mind — 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


185 


* By my Christendom, 

So I were out of prison and kept sheep, 

I should be as merry as the day is long/ 

Duty is the prison which at last keeps man from enjoying 
his own happier inclination.” 

“There you are wrong, Hansford,” said Bacon, “duty 
is the poor drudge, which, patient in its harness, pursues 
th^ will of another. Glory is the wild, unconfined eagle, 
that impatient of restraint would soar to a heaven of its 
own.” 

“ And is it such an object as this that actuates you in 
our present enterprise ?” asked Hansford. 

“ Both,” replied the enthusiastic leader. “ Man, in his 
actions, is controlled by many forces — and duty is chiefly 
prized when it waits as the humble handmaiden on glory. 
But in this enterprise other feelings enter in to direct my 
course. Revenge against these relentless wolves of the 
forest for the murder of a friend — revenge against that 
proud old tyrant, Berkeley, who, clothed in a little brief 
authority, would trample me under his feet — love of my 
country, which impels me to aid in her reformation, and to 
secure her liberty — and, nay, don’t frown — desire for that 
fame which is to the mere discharge of plain duty what the 
spirit is to the body — which directs and sustains it here, 
but survives its dissolution. Are not these sufficient mo- 
tives of action ?” 

“ Pardon me, General,” said Hansford, “ but I see only 
one motive here which is worthy of you. Self-preservation, 
not revenge, could alone justify an assault upon these mis- 
guided savages — and your love of country is sufficient 
inducement to urge you to her protection and defence. 
But these motives are chiefly personal to yourself. How 
can you expect them to affect the minds of your followers ?” 

“Look ye, Major Hansford,” said Bacon, “I speak to 
you as I do not to most men — because I know you have a 


186 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

mind and a heart superior to them — I would dare not 
attempt to influence you as I do others ; but do you see 
those poor trusting fellows that are following in our wake ? 
These men help men like you and me to rise, as feathers 
help the eagle to soar above the clouds. But the proud 
bird may moult a feather from his pinion without des- 
cending from his lofty pride of place. ” 

“ And this then is what you call liberty V ’ said Hansford, 
a little offended at the overbearing manner of the young 
demagogue. 

“ Certainly,” returned Bacon, calmly, “the only liberty 
for which the mass of mankind are fitted. The instincts of 
nature point them to the man most worthy to control their 
destinies. Their brute force aids in elevating him to power 
• — and then he returns upon their heads the blessings with 
which they have entrusted him. Do you remember the 
happy compliment of my old namesake of St. Albans to 
Queen Elizabeth ? Royalty is the heaven which, like the 
blessed sun, exhales the moisture from the earth, and then 
distilling it in gentle rains, it falleth on the heads of those 
from whom she has received it.” 

“ I remember the compliment, which beautiful though it 
may be in imagery, I always thought was but the empty 
flattery of a vain old royal spinster by an accomplished 
courtier. I never suspected that St. Albans, far less his 
relative, Nathaniel Bacon, believed it to be true. And so, 
with all your high flown doctrines of popular rights and 
popular liberty, you are an advocate for royalty at last.” 

“ Nay, you mistake me, I will not say wilfully,” replied 
Bacon, in an offended tone, “I merely used the sentiment 
as an illustration of what I had been saying. The people 
must have rulers, and my idea of liberty only extends to their 
selection of them. After that, stability in government re- 
quires that the power of the people should cease, and that 
of the ruler begin. You may purify the stream through 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 187 

whicn the power flows, by constantly resorting to the foun- 
tain head ; but if you keep the power pent up in the foun- 
tain, like water, it will stagnate and become impure, or else 
overflow its banks and devastate that soil which it was in- 
tended to fertilize.” 

“ Our ideas of liberty, I confess,” said Hansford, “ differ 
very widely. God grant that our antagonistic views may 
not prejudice the holy cause in which we are now engaged.” 

“Well, let us drop the subject then,” said Bacon, care- 
lessly, “as there is so little prospect of our agreeing in 
sentiment. What I said was merely meant to while away 
this tedious journey, and make you forget your own private 
griefs. But tell me, what do you think of the result of this 
enterprise ?” 

“ I think it attended with great danger,” replied Hans- 
ford. 

“ I had not thought,” returned Bacon, with something 
between a smile and a sneer, “ that Thomas Hansford would 
have considered the question of peril involved in a contest 
like this.” 

“ I am at a loss to understand your meaning,” said Hans- 
ford, indignantly. “ If you think I regard danger for 
myself, I tell you that it is a feeling as far a stranger to 
my bosom as to your own, and this I am ready to maintain. 
If you meant no offence, I will merely say that it is the 
part of every general to ‘sit down and consider the cost’ 
before engaging in any enterprise.” 

“ Why will you be so quick to take offence ?” said Bacon. 
“Do I not know that fear is a stranger to your breast ? — else 
why confide in you as I have done ? But I spoke not of 
the danger attending our enterprise. To me danger is not 
a matter of indifference, it is an object of desire. They 
who would bathe in a Stygian wave, to render them invul- 
nerable, are not worthy of the name of heroes. It is only the 
unmailed warrior, whose form, like the white plume of 


188 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

Navarre, is seen where danger is the thickest, that is trulj 
brave and truly great.” 

“ You are a singular being, Bacon,” said Hansford, with 
admiration, “ and were born to be a hero. But tell me, 
what is it that you expect or hope for poor Virginia, when 
all your objects may be attained ? She is still but a poor, 
helpless colony, sapped of her resources by a relentless 
sovereign, and expected to submit quietly to the oppres- 
sions of those who would enslave her.” 

“ By heavens, no !” cried Bacon, impetuously. “ It shall 
never be. Her voice has been already heard by haughty 
England, and it shall again be heard in thunder tones. She 
who yielded not to the call of an imperious dictator — she 
who proposed terms to Cromwell — will not long bear the 
insulting oppression of the imbecile Stuarts. The day is 
coming, and now is, when on this Western continent shall 
arise a nation, before whose potent sway even Britain shall 
be forced to bow. Virginia shall be the Home and Eng- 
land shall be the Troy, and history will record the annals 
of that haughty and imperious kingdom chiefly because she 
was the mother of this western Rome. Yes,” he continued, 
borne along impetuously by his own gushing thoughts, 
“ there shall come a time when Freedom will look west- 
ward for her home, and when the oppressed of every nation 
shall watch with anxious eye that star of Freedom in its 
onward course, and follow- its bright guidance till it stands 
over the place where Virginia — this young child of 
Liberty — is ; and oh ! Hansford, will it then be nothing 
that we were among those who watched the infant breath- 
ings of that political Saviour — who gave it the lessons of 
wisdom and of virtue, and first taught it to speak and pro- 
claim its mission to the world ? Will it then be nothing 
for future generations to point to our names, and, in the 
language of pride and gratitude, to cry, there go the 
authors of our freedom ?” 


) 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 189 

So spake the young enthusiast, thus dimly foreshadowing 
the glory that was to be — the freedom, which, just one 
hundred years from that eventful period, burst upon the 
world. He was not permitted, like Simeon of old, to see 
the salvation for which he longed, and for whinh he wrought. 
And yet he helped to plant the germ, which expanded into 
the wide-spreading tree, and his name should not be for- 
gotten by those who rejoice in its fruit, or rest secure 
beneath its shade. 

Thus whiling away the hours of the night in such 
engrossing subjects, Hansford had nearly forgotten his sor- 
rows in the visions of the future. How beneficent the 
Providence which thus enables the mind to receive from 
without entirely new impressions, which soften down, though 
they cannot erase, the wounds that a harsh destiny has 
inflicted. 

But it is time that the thread of our narrative was bro- 
ken, in order to follow the fortunes of an humble, yet wor- 
thy character of our story. 


190 


THE PEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

“ I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, 

Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any claim of mercy .” 

Merchant of Venice* 

It was on a bright and beautiful morning — for mys- 
terious nature often smiles on the darkest deeds of her 
children — that a group of Indians were assembled around 
the council-fire in one of the extensive forest ranges of 
Virginia. Their faces painted in the most grotesque and 
hideous manner, the fierceness of their looks, and the 
savageness of their dress, would alone have inspired awe 
in the breast of a spectator. But on the present occasion, 
the fatal business in which they were engaged imparted 
even more than usual wildness to their appearance and 
vehemence to their manner. Bound to a neighbouring 
tree so tightly as to produce the most acute pain to the 
poor creature, was an aged negro, who seemed to be the 
object of the vehement eloquence of his savage captors. 
Although confinement, torture, and despair had effected 
a fearful change, by tracing the lines of great suffering on 
his countenance, yet it would not have been difficult even 
then to recognize in the poor trembling wretch our old 
negro friend at Windsor Hall. 

After discovering the deception that had been practised 
on them by Mamalis, and punishing the selfish ambition of 
Manteo, by expelling him from their tribe, the Indian war- 
riors returned to Windsor Hall, and finding the family had 
escaped, seized upon old Giles as the victim on whom to 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 191 

wreak their vengeance. With the savage cruelty of their 
race, his tormentors had doomed him, not to sudden death, 
which would have been welcome to the miserable wretch, 
but to a slow and lingering torture. 

It would be too painful to dwell long upoy, the nature of 
the tortures thus inflicted upon their victims. With all 
their coarseness and rudeness of manner and life, the In- 
dians had arrived at a refinement and skill in cruelty which 
the persecutors of the reformers in Europe might envy, but 
to which they had never attained. Among these, tearing 
the nails from the hands and feet, knocking out the teeth 
with a club, lacerating the flesh with rough, dull muscle 
and oyster-shells, inserting sharp splinters into the wounded 
flesh, and then firing them until the unhappy being is gra- 
dually roasted to death — these were among the tortures 
more frequently inflicted. From the threats and prepara- 
tions of his captors, old Giles had reason to apprehend 
that the w r orst of these tortures he would soon be called 
upon to endure. 

There is, thank God, a period, when the burdens of this 
life become so grievous, that the prayer of the fabled faggot- 
binder may rise sincerely on the lips, and when death would 
indeed be a welcome friend — when it is even soothing to 
reflect that, 

“We bear our heavy burdens but a journey, 

Till death unloads us." 

Such was the period at which the wretched negro had 
now arrived. He listened, therefore, with patient compo- 
sure to the fierce, threatening language of the warriors, 
which his former association with Manteo enabled him, 
when aided by their wild gesticulation, to comprehend. 
But it was far from the intention of the Indians to release 
him yet from his terrible existence. One of the braves 
approaching the poor helpless wretch with a small cord of 


192 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

catgut, such as was used by them for bow-strings, prepared 
to bind it tightly around his thumb, while the others gather- 
5 ing around in a circle waved their war-clubs high in air to 
inflict the painful bastinado. When old Giles saw the 
Indian approach, and fully comprehended his design, his 
heart sank within him at this new instrument of torture, 
and in despairing accents he groaned — 

“ Kill me, kill me, but for de Lord’s sake, massa, don’t 
put dat horrid thing on de poor old nigga.” 

Regardless of his cries, the powerful Indian adjusted the 
cord, and with might and main drew it so tightly around 
the thumb that it entered the flesh even to the bone, while 
the poor negro shrieked in agony. Then, to drown the 
cry, the other savages commencing a wild, rude chant, let 
their war-clubs descend upon their victim with such force 
that he fainted. Just at this moment the quick ears of the 
Indians caught the almost inaudible sound of approaching 
horsemen, and as they paused to satisfy themselves of the 
truth of their suspicions, Bacon and his little band of faith- 
ful followers appeared full in sight. Leaving their victim 
in a moment, the savages prepared to defend themselves 
from the assault of their intruders, and with the quickness 
of thought, concealing themselves behind the trees and 
undergrowth of the forest, they sent a shower of arrows 
into the unwary ranks of their adversaries. 

“By Jove, that had like to have been my death-stroke,” 
cried Bacon, as an arrow directed full against his breast, 
glanced from a gilt button of his coat and fell harmless to 
the ground. But others of the party were not so fortunate 
as their leader. Several of the men, pierced by the poisoned 
arrows of the enemy, fell dead. 

Notwithstanding the success of this first charge of the 
Indians, Bacon and his party sustained the shock with 
coolness and intrepidity. Their gallant leader, himself 
careless of life or safety, led the charge, and on his power- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 193 

ful horse he was, like the royal hero to whom he had com- 
pared himself, ever seen in the thickest of the carnage. 
Well did he prove himself that day worthy of the confi- 
dence of his faithful followers. 

Nor loth were the Indians to return their charge. 
Although their party only amounted to about fifty, and 
Bacon’s men numbered several hundred, yet was the idea 
of retreat abhorrent to their martial feelings. Screening 
themselves with comparative safety behind the large forest 
trees, or lying under the protection of the thick under- 
growth, they kept up a constant attack with their arrows, 
and succeeded in effecting considerable loss to the whites, 
who, incommoded by their horses, or unaccustomed 1 to this 
system of bush fighting, failed to produce a corresponding 
effect upon their savage foe. 

There was something in the religion of these simple sons 
of the forest which imparted intrepid boldness to their 
characters, unattainable by ordinary discipline. The mate- 
rial conception which they entertained of the spirit-world, 
where valour and heroism were the passports of admission, 
created a disregard for life such as no civilized man could 
well entertain. In that new land, to which death was but 
the threshold, their pursuits were the same in character, 
though greater in degree, as those in which they here 
engaged. There they would be welcomed by the brave 
warriors of a former day, and engage still in fierce contests 
with hostile tribes. There they would enjoy the delights 
of the chase through spirit forests, deeper and more gigan- 
tic than those through which they wandered in life. Theirs 
was the Yalhalla to which the brave alone were admitted, 
and among whose martial habitants would continue the 
same emulation in battle, the same stoicism in suffering, as 
in their forest-world. Such was the character of their 
Bimple religion, which created in their breasts that heroism 
12 


194 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


and fortitude, in danger or in pain, that has with one accord 
been attributed to them. 

But despite their valour and resolution, the contest, with 
such disparity of numbers, must needs be brief. Bacon 
pursued each advantage which he gained with relentless 
vigour, ever and anon cheering his followers, and crying 
out, as he rushed onward to the charge, “ Don’t let one of 
the bloody dogs escape. Remember, my gallant boys, the 
peace of your firesides and the lives and safety of your 
wives and children. Remember the brave men who have 
already fallen before the hand of the savage foe.” 

Faithful to his injunction, the overwhelming power of 
the whites soon strewed the ground with the bodies of the 
brave savages. The few who remained, dispirited and 
despairing, fled through the forest from the irresistible 
charge of the enemy. 

Meantime the unfortunate Giles had recovered from the 
swoon into which he had fallen, and began to look wildly 
about him, as though in a dream. To the fact that the 
contending parties had been closely engaged, and that from 
this cause not a gun had been fired, the old negro probably 
owed his life. With the superstition of his race, the poor 
creature attributed this fortunate succour to a miraculous 
interposition of Providence in his behalf ; and when he saw 
the last of his oppressors flying before the determined on- 
slaught of the white men, he fervently cried, 

“ Thank the Lord, for he done sent his angels to stop de 
lion’s mouf, and to save de poor old nigger from dere 
hands.” 

“ Hallo, comrades,” said Berkenhead, when he espied the 
poor old negro bound to the tree, “ who have we here ? 
This must be old Ochee* himself, whom the Lord has 

* The evil spirit, sometimes called Opitchi Manitou, and worshipped 
hy the Indians. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


195 


delivered into our hands. Hark ye,” he added, proceeding 
to unbind him, “ where do you come from ? — or are you in 
reality the evil one, whom these infidel red-skins worship ?” 

“ Oh, no, Massa, I a’ant no evil sperrit. A sperrit hab 
not flesh and bones as you see me hab.” <• 

“ Nay,” returned the coarse-hearted soldier, “that rea- 
soning won’t serve your purpose, for there is precious little 
flesh and blood about you, old man. The most you can 
lay claim to is skin and bones.” 

Hansford, who had been standing a little distance off, 
was attracted by this conversation, and turning in the 
direction of the old negro, was much surprised to recog- 
nize, under such horrible circumstances, the quondam 
steward,# butler and factotum of Windsor Hall. Nor was 
Giles’ surprise less in meeting with Miss Virginia’s “buck” 
in so secluded a spot. It was with difficulty that Hansford 
could prevent him from throwing his arms around his neck ; 
but giving the old man a hearty shake of the hand, he 
asked him the story of his captivity, which Giles, with much 
importance, proceeded to relate. But he had scarcely 
begun his narrative, when the attention of the insurgents 
was attracted by the approach of two horsemen, who ad- 
vanced towards them v at a rapid rate, as though they had 
gome important intelligence to communicate. 


196 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“ Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 

Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast.” 

Richard III. 

Tiie new comers were Lawrence and Drummond, who, as 
i will be recollected by the reader, were left in Jamestown to 
watch the proceedings of the Governor, and to convey to 
Bacon any needful intelligence concerning them. Although 
he had, in the first impulse of triumph after receiving his 
commission, confided fully in the promises of the vacillating 
Berkeley, yet, on reflection, Bacon did not rely very impli- 
citly upon them. The Governor had once before broken 
his word in the affair of the parole, promising to grant the 
commission which he craved, upon condition of his confes- 
sion of his former disloyal conduct and his promise to 
amend. Bacon was not the man to be twice deceived, and 
it did not therefore much surprise him to see the two 
patriots so soon after his departure from Jamestown, nor to 
hear the strange tidings which they had come to detail. 

“ Why, how is this, General ?” said Lawrence. “ You 
have had bloody work already, it seems ; and not without 
some loss to your own party.” 

“ Yes, there they lie,” returned Bacon. “ God rest their 
brave souls ! But being dead, they yet speak — speak to 
us to avenge their death on the bloody savages who have 
slaughtered them, and to proclaim the insane policy of 
Berkeley in delaying our march against the foe. But what 
make you from Jamestown ?” 

“ Bad news or good, General, as you choose to take it,” 
replied Lawrence. “ Berkeley has dissolved the Assembly 
\ 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


197 


in a rage, because they supported you in your demand of 
yesterday, and has himself, with his crouching minions, 
retired to Gloucester.” 

“ To Gloucester 1” cried Bacon. “ That is indeed news. 
But what can the old dotard mean by srtch a movement ?” 

“ He has already made known his reasons,” returned 
Lawrence. “ He has cancelled your commission, and pro- 
claimed you, and all engaged with you, as rebels and 
traitors.” 

“ Why, this is infamous 1” said Bacon. “ Is the old 
knave such an enemy to truth that it cannot live upon his 
lips for one short day ? And who, pray, is rash enough to 
uphold him in his despotism, or base enough to screen him 
in his infamy ?” 

“ It was whispered as we left,” said Drummond, “ that a 
certain Colonel Henry Temple had avouched the loyalty of 
Gloucester, and prevailed upon the Governor to make his 
house his castle, during what he is pleased to term this 
unhappy rebellion.” 

“ And by my soul,” said Bacon, fiercely, “ I will teach 
this certain Colonel Henry Temple the hazard that he runs 
in thus abetting tyranny and villainy. If he would not 
have his house beat down over his ears, he were wise to 
withdraw his aid and support ; else, if his house be a castle 
at all, it is like to be a castle in Spain.” 

Hansford, who was an eager listener, as we may suppose, 
to the foregoing conversation, was alarmed at this deter- 
mination of his impulsive leader. He knew too well the 
obstinate loyalty of Temple to doubt that he would resist 
at every hazard, rather than deliver his noble guest into the 
hands of his enemies. He felt assured, too, that if the re- 
port were true, Virginia had accompanied her father to 
Gloucester, and his very soul revolted at the idea of her 
being subjected to the disagreeable results which would flow 
from an attack upon Windsor Hall. The only chance of 


198 


the devoted bride. 


avoiding tlie difficulty, was to offer his own mediation, and 
in the event, which he foresaw, of Colonel Temple refusing 
to come to terms, he trusted that there was at least mag- 
nanimity enough left in the old Governor to induce him to 
seek some other refuge, rather than to subject his hospitable 
and loyal host to the consequences of his kindness. There 
was indeed some danger attending such a mission in the 
-present inflamed state of Berkeley’s mind. But this, Hans- 
ford held at naught. Hastily revolving in his mind these 
thoughts, he ventured to suggest to Bacon, that an attack 
upon Colonel Temple’s house would result in the worst con- 
sequences to the cause of the patriots ; that it would effect 
no good, as the Governor might again promise, and again 
recant — and, that it would be difficult to induce his followers 
to embark in an enterprise so foreign to the avowed object 
of the expedition, and against a man whose character was 
well known, and beloved by the people of the Colony. 

Bacon calmly heard him through, as though struck with 
the truth of the > views he presented, and then added with a 
sarcastic smile, which stung Hansford to the quick, “ and 
moreover, the sight of soldiers and of fire-arms might alarm 
the ladies.” 

“ And, if such a motive as that did influence my opinion,” 
said Hansford, “ I hope it was neither unworthy a soldier 
or a man.” 

“ Unworthy alike of both,” replied Bacon, “of a soldier, 
because the will and command of his superior officer should 
be his only law — and of a man, because, in a cause affecting 
his rights and liberties, any sacrifice of feeling should be 
willingly and cheerfully made.” 

“That sacrifice I now make,” said Hansford, vainly en- 
deavouring to repress his indignation, “in not retorting 
more harshly to your imputation. The time may yet come 
when no such sacrifice shall be required, and when none, I 
assure you, shall be made.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 199 

“And, when it comes, young man,” returned Bacon, 
haughtily, “be assured that I will not be backward in af- 
fording you an opportunity of defending yourself — mean- 
time you are under my command — and will please remember 
that you are so. But, gentlemen,” he continued, turning 
to the others, “ what say you to our conduct in these cir- 
cumstances. Shall we proceed to Powhatan, against the 
enemy of a country to which we are traitors, or shall we 
march on this mendacious old Knight, and once again wipe 
off the stigma which he has placed upon our names ?” 

“ I think,” said Lawrence, after a pause of some moments, 
“ that there is a good deal of truth in the views presented 
by Major Hansford. But, could not some middle course be 
adopted. I don’t exactly see how it can be effected, but, 
if the Governor were met by remonstrance of his injustice, 
and informed of our determination to resist it as such, it 
seems to me that he would be forced to recant this last pro- 
clamation, and all would be well again.” 

“ And who think you would carry the remonstrance,” said 
Bacon. “ It would be about as wise to thrust your head 
in a lion’s mouth, as to trust yourself in the hands of the 
old fanatic. I know not whom we could get to bear such 
a mission,” he added, smiling, “ unless our friend Ingram 
there, who having been accustomed to ropes in his youth, 
if report speaks true, need have no fear of them in age.”* 
“In faith, General,” replfed the quondam rope-dancer, 
“I am only expert in managing the cable when it supports 
my feet. But I have never been able to perform the feat 
of dancing on nothing and holding on by my neck.” 

“ General Bacon,” said Hansford, stepping forward, “ I 
am willing to execute your mission to the Governor. ” 

“ My dear boy,” said Bacon, grasping him warmly by the 
hand, “forgive me for speaking so roughly to you just now, 


* He wag in truth a rope-dancer in his early life. 


200 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

I am almost ready to cut my tongue out of my head for 
having said anything to vfaund your feelings. But damn 
that old treacherous fox, he inflamed me so, that I must 
have let out some of my bad humour or choked in retaining 
it.” 

Hansford returned his grasp warmly, perhaps the more 
ready to forgive and forget, as he saw a prospect of attain- 
ing his object in protecting the family of his friend from 
harm. 

“But you shall not go,” continued Bacon. “It were 
madness to venture within the clutch of the infuriated old 
madman.” 

“Whatever were the danger,” said Hansford, “this was 
my proposition, and on me devolves the peril, if peril there 
be in its execution. But there is really none. Colonel 
Temple, although a bigot in his loyalty, is the last person 
to violate the rites of hospitality or to despise a flag of truce. 
And Sir William Berkeley dare not disregard either whilst 
under his roof. ” 

“Well, so let it be then,” said Bacon, “but I fear that 
you place too much reliance on the good faith of your old 
friend Temple. Believe me, that these Tories hold a doc- 
trine in their political creed, very much akin to the Papal 
doctrine of intolerance. 1 Faith towards heretics, is infi- 
delity to religion. ’ But you must at least take some force 
with you.” 

“I believe not,” returned our hero, “the presence of an 
armed force would be an insuperable barrier to a reconcilia- 
tion. I will only take my subaltern, Berkenhead, yonder, 
and that poor old negro, in whose liberation I sincerely re- 
joice. The first will be a companion, and in case of danger 
some protection ; and the last, if you choose,” he added 
smiling, “ will be a make-peace between the political papist 
and the rebel heretic.” 

“ Well, G-od bless you, Hansford,” said Bacon, with much 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


201 


warmth, “ and above all, forget my haste and unkindnes3 
just now. We must learn to forgive like old Romans, if 
we would be valiant like them, and so 

‘When I am over-earnest with you, Hansford, 

You’ll think old Berkeley chides, and leave me so.’” 


“ With all my heart, my noble General,” returned Hans- 
ford, laughing, “and now for my mission — what shall I say 
on behalf of treason to his royal highness ?” 

“ Tell him,” said Bacon, gravely, “that Nathaniel Bacon, 
by the grace of God, and the special trust and confidence 
of Sir William Berkeley, general-in-chief of the armies of 
Virginia, desires to know for what act of his, since such 
trust was reposed in him, he and his followers have been 
proclaimed as traitors to their king. Ask him for what 
reasou it is that while pursuing the common enemies of the 
country — while attacking in their lairs the wolves and lions 
of the forest, I, myself, am mercilessly assaulted like a savage 
wild beast, by those whom it is my object to defend. Tell 
him that I require him to retract the proclamation he has 
issued without loss of time, and in the event of his re- 
fusal, I am ready to assert and defend the rights of freemen 
by the last arbiter between man and man. Lastly, say to 
him, that I will await his answer until two days from this 
time, and should it still prove unfavourable to my demands, 
then woe betide him.” 

Charged with the purport of his mission, Hansford shook 
Bacon cordially by the hand, and proceeded to prepare for 
his journey. As he was going to inform his comrade, old 
Lawrence gently tapped him on the shoulder, and whis- 
pered, “ Look ye, Tom, I like not the appearance of that 
fellow Berkenhead.” 

“ He is faithful, I believe,” said Hansford, in the same 
tone; “a little rough and free spoken, perhaps, but I do 
not doubt his fidelity.” 


202 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

“ I would I were of the same mind,” returned his com- 
panion ; “ but if ever the devil set his mark upon a man’s 
face that he might know him on the resurrection morning, 
he did so on that crop-eared Puritan. Tell me, aint he 
the same fellow that got his freedom and two hundred 
pounds for revealing the insurrection of sixty-two ?” 

“ The same, I believe,” said Hansford, carelessly ; “ but 
what of that ?” 

“ Why simply this,” said the honest old cavalier, “ that 
faith is like a walking-cane. Break it once and you may 
glue it so that the fracture can scarcely be seen by the 
naked eye ; but it will break in the same place if there be 
a strain upon it.” 

“ I hope you are mistaken,” said Hansford ; “ but I thank 
you for your warning, and will not disregard it. I will be 
on my guard.” 

“Here, Lawrence,” cried Bacon, “what private message 
are you sending to the Governor, that you must needs be 
delaying our ambassador ? We have a sad duty to perform. 
These brave men, who have fallen in our cause, must mot 
be suffered to lie a prey to vultures. Let them be buried 
as becomes brave soldiers, who have died right bravely with 
their harness on. I would there were some one here who 
could perform the rites of burial — but their requiem shall 
be sung with our song of triumph. Peace to their souls ! 
Comrades, prepare their grave, and pay due honour to their 
memory by discharging a volley of musketry over them. 
I wot they well loved the sound while living — nor will they 
sleep less sweetly for it now.” 

By such language, and such real or affected interest in 
the fate of those who followed his career, Nathaniel Bacon 
won the affection of his soldiery. Never was there a leader, 
even in the larger theatres of action, more sincerely beloved 
and Worshipped — and to this may be attributed in a great 
degree the wonderful power which he possessed over tho 

l 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


203 


minds of his followers — moulding their opinions in strict 
conformity with his own; breathing into them something 
of the ardent heroism which inspired his own soul, and 
making them thus the willing and subservient instruments 
of his own ambitious designs. < 

With sad countenances the soldiers proceeded to obey the 
order of their general. Scooping with their swords and 
bayonets a shallow grave in the soft virgin soil of the forest, 
they committed the bodies of their comrades to the ground, 
earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust — and as they 
screened their ashes forever from the light of day, the 
“aisles of the dim woods” echoed back the loud roar of 
the unheard, unheeded honour which they paid to the 
memory of the dead. 


CHAPTER XX YI 


" But the poor dog, in life the dearest friend, 

The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 

Whose honest heart is still his master’s own ; 

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, 
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, 

Denied in heaven the soul he had on earth.” 

Byron. 

When the last sad rites of burial had been performed 
over the grave of those who had fallen, Hansford, accom- 
panied by Berkenhead and old Giles, proceeded to the 
discharge of the trust which had been reposed in him. It 
was indeed a mission fraught with the most important 
consequences to the cause of the insurgents, to the family at 


204 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

Windsor Hall, and to himself personally. It required both 
a cool head and a brave heart to succeed in its execution. 
Hansford well knew that the first burst of rage from the 
old Governor, on hearing the bold proposition of the rebels, 
would be dangerous, if not fatal to himself; and with all 
the native boldness of his character, it would be unnatural 
if he failed to feel the greatest anxiety for the result. But 
even if he escaped the vengeance of Berkeley, he feared the 
impulsive nature of Bacon, in the event of the refusal of 
Sir William to comply with his demands, would drive him 
into excesses ruinous to his cause, and dangerous alike to 
the innocent and the guilty. If Temple’s obstinacy and 
chivalry persisted in giving refuge to the Governor, what, 
he thought, might be the consequences to her, whose inte- 
rest and whose safety he held so deeply at heart 1 Thus 
the statesman, the lover, and the individual, each had a 
peculiar interest in the result, and Hansford felt like a wise 
man the heavy responsibility he had incurred, although he 
resolved to encounter and discharge it like a bold one. 

It was thus, with a heavy heart that he proceeded on his 
way, and buried in these reflections he maintained a moody 
silence, little regarding the presence of his two companions. 
Old Giles, too, had his own food for reflection, and vouch- 
safed only monosyllables in reply to the questions and 
observations of the loquacious Berkenhead. But the sol- 
dier was not to be repulsed by the indifference of the one, 
or the laconic answers of the other of his companions. 
Finding it impossible to engage in conversation, he con- 
tented himself with soliloquy, and in a low, muttering 
voice, as if to himself, but intended as well for the ears of 
his commander, he began an elaborate comparison of the 
army of Cromwell, in which he had served, and the army 
of the Virginia insurgents. 

“ To be sure, they both fought for liberty, but after that 
there is monstrous little likeness between ’em. Old Noll was 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


205 


always acting himself, and laying it all to Providence when 
he was done ; while General Bacon, cavorting round, first 
after the Indians and then after the Governor, seems hardly 
to know what he is about, and yet, I believe, trusts in 
Providence at last more than Noll, with -till his religion; 
and, faith, it seems to me it took more religion to do him 
than most any man I ever see. First psalm singing, and 
then fighting, and then psalm singing agen, and then more 
fighting — for all the world like a brick house with mortar 
stuck between. But I trow that it was the fighting that 
made the house stand, after all. And yet I believe, for all 
the saints used to nickname me a sinner, and call me one 
of the spawn of the beast, because I would get tired of the 
Word sometimes — and, by the same token, old brother 
Purge-the-temple Whithead had a whole dictionary of 
words, much less the one — yet, for all come and gone, I 
believe I would rather hear a long psalm, than to be 
doomed to solitary confinement to my own thoughts, as I 
am here.” 

“ And so you have served in old Noll’s army, as you call 
it,” said Hansford, smiling in spite of himself, and willing 
to indulge the old Oliverian with some little notice. 

“ Oh, yes, Major,” replied Berkenhead, delighted to have 
gained an auditor at last ; “ and a rare service it was too. 
A little too much of what they called the church militant, 
and the like, for me ; but for all that the fellows fought like 
devils, if they did live like saints — and, what was rare to 
me, they did not deal the less lightly with their swords for 
the fervour of their prayers, nor pray the less fervently for 
their enemies after they had raked them with their fire, or 
hacked them to pieces with their swords. ’Faith, an if 
there had been many more battles like Dunbar and Wor- 
cester, they had as well have blotted that text from their 
Bible, for precious few enemies did they have to pray for 
after that.” 


206 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

“ You did not agree with these zealots in religion, then,” 
said Hansford. “ Prythee, friend, of what sect of Chris- 
tians are you a member ?” 

“ Well, Major, to speak the truth and shame the devil, as 
they say, my religion has pretty much gone with my sword. 
As a soldier must change his coat whenever he changes his 
service, so I have thought he should make his faith — the 
robe of his righteousness, as they call it — adapt itself to 
that of his employer.” 

“ The cloak of his hypocrisy, you mean,” said Hansford, 
indignantly. “ I like not this scoffing profanity, and must 
hear no more of it. He who is not true to his God is of a 
bad material for a patriot. But tell me,” he added, seeing 
that the man seemed sufficiently rebuked, “ how came you 
to this colony ?” 

“ Simply because I could not stay in England,” replied 
Berkenhead. “ Mine has been a hard lot, Major ; for I 
never got what I wanted in this life. If I was predestined 
for anything, as old Purge- the- temple used to say we all 
were, it seems to me it was to be always on the losing side. 
When I fought for freedom in England, I gained bondage 
in Virginia for my pains ; and when I refused to seek my 
freedom, and betrayed my comrades in the insurrection of 
sixty-two, lo, and behold ! I was released from bondage for 
my reward. What I will gain or lose by this present move- 
ment, I don’t know ; but I have been an unlucky adven- 
turer thus far.” 

“ I have heard of your behaviour in sixty-two,” said 
Hansford, “ but whether such conduct be laudable or cen- 
surable, depends very much upon the motive that prompted 
you to it. You came to this country then as an indented 
servant ?” 

‘‘Yes, sold, your honour, for the thirty pieces of silver, 
like Joseph was sold into Egypt by his brethren.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 207 

“ I suspect that the resemblance between yourself and 
that eminent patriarch ceased with the sale.” 

“ It is not for me to say, your honour. But in the 
present unsettled state of affairs, who knows who may be 
made second only to Pharaoh over all Egypt ? I wot well 
who will be otir Pharaoh, if we gain our point ; and I have 
done the state some service, and may yet do her more.” 

“ By treachery to your comrades, I suppose,” said Hans- 
ford, disgusted with the conceit and self-complacency of the 
man. 

“ Now, look ye here, Major, if I was disposed to be 
touchy, I might take exception at that remark. But I have 
seen too much of life to fly off at the first word. . The axe 
that flies from the helve at the first stroke, may be sharp as 
a grindstone can make it, but it will never cut a tree down 
for all that.” 

“ And if you were to fly off, as you call it, at the first or 
the last word,” said Hansford, haughtily, “you would only 
get a sound beating for your pains. How dare you speak 
thus to your superior, you insolent knave 1” 

“ No insolence, Major,” said Berkenhead, sulkily; “but 
for the matter of speaking against your honour, I have seen 
my betters silenced in their turn, by their superiors.” 

“ Silence, slave !” cried Hansford, his face flushing with 
indignation at this allusion to his interview with Bacon, 
which he had hoped, till now, had been unheard by the 
soldiers. “ But come,” he added, reflecting on the impru- 
dence of losing his only friend and ally in this perilous 
adventure, “ you are a saucy knave, but I suppose I must 
e’en bear with you for the present. We cannot be far from 
Windsor Hall, I should think.” 

“ About two miles, as I take it, Major,” said Berken- 
head, in a more respectful manner. “ I used, to live in 
Gloucester, not far from the hall, and many is the time I 
have followed my master through these old woods in a /deer 


208 THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 

chase. Yes, there is Manteo’s clearing, just two miles from 
the hall.” 

Scarcely were the words out of the speaker’s mouth, 
when, to the surprise of the little party, a large dog of the 
St. Bernard’s breed leaped from a thicket near them, and 
bounded towards Hansford. 

“ Brest ef it a’ant old Nestor,” said Giles, whose tongue 
had at length been loosened by the sight of the family 
favourite, and he stooped down as he spoke to pat the dog 
upon the head. But Nestor’s object was clearly not to be 
caressed. Frisking about in a most extraordinary manner, 
now wagging his tail, now holding it between his legs, now 
bounding a few steps in front of Hansford’s horse, and 
anon crouching by his side and whining most piteously, he 
at length completed his eccentric movements by standing 
erect upon his hind legs and placing his fore feet against 
the breast of his old master. Struck with this singular 
conduct, Hansford, reining in his horse, cried out, “ The 
poor dog must be mad. Down, Nestor, down I tell you !” 

Well was it for our hero that the faithful animal refused 
to obey, for just at that moment an arrow was heard whiz- 
zing through the air, and the noble dog fell transfixed 
through the neck with the poisoned missile, which else had 
pierced Hansford’s heart.* The alarm caused by so sud- 
den and unexpected an attack had not passed off, before 
another arrow was.burfed deep in our hero’s shoulder. 
But quick as were the movements of the attacking party, 
the trained eye of Berkenhead caught a glimpse of the 
tall form of an Indian as it vanished behind a large oak 
tree, about twenty yards from where they stood. The sol- 
dier levelled his carbine, and as Manteo (for the reader has 
probably already conjectured that it was he) again emerged 
from his hiding place to renew the attack, he discharged 

* An incident somewhat similar to this is on record as having actually 
occurred. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


209 


his piece with deadly aim and effect. With a wild yell of 
horror, the young warrior sprang high in the air, and fell 
lifeless to the ground. 

Berkenhead was about to rush forward towards his vic- 
tim, when Hansford, who still retained *his seat on the 
horse, though’ faint from pain and loss of blood, cried out, 
“ Caution, caution, for God’s sake, there are more of the 
bloody villains about.” But after a few moments’ pause, 
the apprehension of a further attack passed away, and the 
soldier and Giles repaired to the spot. And there in the 
cold embrace of death, lay the brave young Indian, his 
painted visage reddened yet more by the life-blood which 
still flowed from his wound. His right hand still grasped 
the bow-string, as in his last effort to discharge the fatal 
arrow. A haughty smile curled his lip even in the moment 
in which the soul had fled, as if in that last struggle his 
brave young heart despised the pang of death itself. 

Gazing at him for a moment, yet long enough for old 
Giles to recognize the features of Manteo in the bloody 
corpse, they returned to Hansford, whose condition indeed 
required their immediate assistance. Drawing out the 
arrow, and staunching the blood as well as they could 
with his scarf, Berkenhead bandaged it tightly, and 
although still in great pain, the wounded man was en- 
abled slowly to continue his journey. A ride of about 
half an hour brought the little party to the door of Wind- 
sor Hall. 

13 


* 



210 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


i 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

“ Fll tell thee truth — 

Too oft a stranger to the royal ear, 

But far more wholesome than the honeyed lies 
That fawning flatterers offer.” 

Any Port in a Storm. 

Brief as was the time which had elapsed, the old hall 
presented a different appearance to Hansford, from that 
which it maintained when he last left it under such disheart- 
ening circumstances. The notable mistress of the mansion 
had spared no pains to prepare for the reception of her 
honoured guest ; and, although she took occasion to com- 
plain to her good husband of his inconsiderate conduct, in 
foisting all these strangers upon her at once, yet she in- 
wardly rejoiced at the opportunity it presented for a display 
of her admirable housewifery. Indeed, the ease-loving old 
Colonel almost repented of his hospitality, amid the bustle 
and hurry, the scolding of servants, and the general bad 
humour which were all necessary incidents to the good dame’s 
preparation. Having finally “ brought things to something 
like rights,” as she expressed It, her next care was to pro- 
vide for the entertainment of her distinguished guest, which 
to the mind of the benevolent old lady, consisted not in 
sparkling conversation, or sage counsels, (then, alas ! much 
needed by the Governor,) but in spreading a table loaded 
with a superabundance of delicacies to tempt his palate, and 
cause him to forget his troubles. It was a favourite saymg 
of hers, caught up most probably in her early life, during 
the civil war in England, that if the stomach was well gar- 
risoned with food, the heart would never capitulate to 
sorrow. 


THE, DEVOTED BRIDE. 


211 


But the truth of this apothegm was not sustained in the 
present instance. Her hospitable efforts, even when united 
with the genial good humour and kindness of her husband 
were utterly unavailing to dispel the gloom which hung 
over the inmates of Windsor Hall. Sir William Berkeley 
was himself dejected and sad, and communicated his own 
dejection to all around him. Indeed, since his arrival at 
the Hall, he had found good reason to repent his haste in 
denouncing the popular and gifted young insurgent. The 
pledge made by Colonel Temple of the loyalty of the people 
of Gloucester, had not been redeemed — at least so far as 
an active support of the Governor was concerned. Berke- 
ley’s reception by them was cold and unpromising. The 
enthusiasm which he had hoped to inspire no where pre- 
vailed, and the old man felt himself deserted by those whose 
zealous co-operation he had been led to anticipate. It was 
true that they asserted in the strongest terms their profes- 
sions of loyal devotion, and their willingness to quell the 
first symptoms of rebellion, but they failed to see anything 
in the conduct of Bacon to justify the harsh measures of 
Berkeley towards him and his followers. “ Lip-service — 
lip-service,” said the old Governor, sorrowfully, as their 
decision was communicated to him, “ they draw near to me 
with their mouth, and honour me with their lips, but their 
heart is far from me.” But, notwithstanding his disap- 
pointment, nothing could shake the proud spirit of Berkeley, 
in his inflexible resolution, to resist any encroachments on 
his prerogative ; and, so providing his few followers with 
arms from the adjacent fort on York River, he prepared to 
maintain his power and his dignity by the sword. 

Fuch was the state of things on the evening that Thomas 
Hansford and his companions arrived at Windsor Hall. 
The intelligence of their arrival created much excite- 
ment, and the inmates of the mansion differed greatly 
in their opinions as to the intention of the young rebel. 


212 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Poor Mrs. Temple, in whose mind fear always predomi- 
nated over every other feeling, felt assured that Hansford 
had come, attended by another “ ruffian,” forcibly to abduct 
Virginia from her home — and a violent fit of hysterics was 
the result of her suspicions. Virginia herself, vacillating 
between hope and fear, trusted, in the simplicity of her 
young, girlish heart, that her lover had repented of his 
grievous error, and had come to claim her love, and to sue 
to the Governor for pardon. Sir William Berkeley saw in 
the mission of Hansford, a faint hope that the rebels, alarmed 
by his late proclamation, had determined to return to their 
allegiance, and that Hansford was the bearer of a proposi- 
tion to this effect, imploring at the same time the clemency 
and pardon of the government, against which they had so 
grievously offended. 

“ And they shall receive mercy, too, at my hands,” said 
the old knight, as a tear glistened in his eye. “ They have 
learned to fear the power of the government, and to respect 
its justice, and they shall now learn to love its merciful 
clemency. God forbid, that I should chasten my repenting 
people, except as children, for their good.” 

“ Not so fast, my honoured Governor,” said Philip 
Ludwell, w T ho, with the other attendants of Berkeley, had 
gathered around him in the porch ; “ you may be mistaken 
in your opinion. I believe — I know — that your wish is 
father to the thought in this matter. But look at the 
resolution and determined bearing of that young man. 
Is his the face or the bearing of a suppliant?” 

Ludwell was right. The noble countenance of Hansford, 
always expressive, though sufficiently respectful to the pre- 
sence which he was about to enter, indicated any thing 
rather than tame submission. His face was very pale, and 
his lip quivered for a moment as he approached the anxious 
crowd of loyalists, who remained standing in the porch, but 
it was at once firmly compressed by the strength of resolu- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 213 

tion. As he advanced, he raised his hat and profoundly 
saluted the Governor, and then drawing himself up to his 
full height, he stood silently awaiting some one to speak. 
Colonel Temple halted a moment between bis natural kind- 
ness forjhis friend and his respect for the presence of Sir 
William Berkeley. The first feeling prompted him to rush 
up to Hansford, and greeting him as of old, to give him a 
cordial welcome to the hall — but the latter feeling pre- 
vailed. Without advancing, then, he said in a tone, in 
which assumed displeasure strove in vain to overcome his 
native benevolence — 

“ To what cause am I to attribute this unexpected visit 
of Mr. Hansford?” 

“My business is with Sir William Berkeley,” replied 
Hansford, respectfully, •“ and I presume I am not mistaken 
in supposing that I am now in his presence.” 

“ And what would you have from me young man,” said 
Berkeley, coldly ; “ your late career has estranged you and 
some of your friends so entirely from their Governor, that 
I feel much honoured by this evidence of your returning 
affection.” 

“ Both I and my friends, as far as I may speak for them,” 
returned Hansford, in the same calm tone, “ have ever been 
ready and anxious to show our devotion to our country 
and its rulers, and our present career to which your excel- 
lency has been pleased to allude, is in confirmation of the 
fact. That we have unwittingly fallen under your dis- 
pleasure, sir, I am painfully aware. To ascertain the cause 
of that displeasure is my reason for this intrusion.” 

“ The cause, young man,” said Berkeley, “is to be found 
in your own conduct, for which, may I hope, you have come 
for pardon ?” 

“ I regret to say that you are mistaken in your conjec- 
ture,” replied Hansford. “As it is impossible that our 
conduct could have invoked your displeasure, so it i3 


214 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

equally impossible that we should sue for pardon for an 
offence which we have never committed.” 

“And, prythee, what then is your worshipful pleasure, 
fair sir,” said Berkeley, ironically ; “ perhaps, in the abun- 
dance of your mercy, you have come to grant pardon, if 
you do not desire it. Nay I” he exclaimed, seeing Hans- 
ford shake his head ; “ then, peradventure, you would ask 
me to abdicate my government in favour of young Crom- 
well. I beg pardon — young Bacon, I should say — the 
similarity of their views is so striking, that as my memory 
is but a poor one, I sometimes confound their names. 
Well! any thing in reason. Nay, again! — well then, I 
am at a loss to conjecture, and you must yourself explain 
the object of your visit.” 

“I would fain convey my instructions to Sir William 
Berkeley’s private ear,” said Hansford, unmoved by the 
irony of the old knight. 

“Oh pardon me, fair sir,” said Berkeley; “yet, in this 
I must crave your pardon, indeed. A sovereign would 
never wittingly trust himself alone with a rebel, and neither 
will I, though only an obscure colonial Governor. There 
are none but loyal ears here, and I trust Mr. Hansford has 
no tidings which can offend them.” 

“I am sure,” said Hansford, in reply, “that Sir William 
Berkeley does not for a moment suspect that I desired to 
see him in private from any sinister or treasonable motive.” 

“I know, sir,” said Berkeley, angrily, “that you have 
proved yourself a traitor, and, therefore, I have the best 
reason for suspecting you of treasonable designs. But I 
have no time — no disposition to dally with you thus. Tell 
me, what new treason, that my old ears are yet strangers to, 
I am yet doomed to hear ?” 

“ My instructions are soon told,” said Hansford, repress- 
ing his indignation. “ General Nathaniel Bacon, by virtue 
of your own commission, Commander-in-chief of the forces 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 215 

of Virginia, desires to know, and has directed me to in- 
quire, for what cause you have issued a proclamation 
declaring both him and his followers traitors to their 
country and king ?” 

Berkeley stood the shock much better than Hansford 
expected. His face flushed for a moment, but only for a 
moment, as he replied, — * 

“ This is certainly an unusual demand of a rebel ; but 
sir, as I have nothing to fear from an exposure of my rea- 
sons, I will reply, that Nathaniel Bacon is now in arms 
against the government of Virginia.” 

“ Not unless the government of Virginia be allied with 
the Indians, against whom he is marching,” said Hansford, 
calmly. 

“Aye, but it is well known,” returned Berkeley, “ that he 
has covert views*of his own to attain, under pretext of this 
expedition against the Indians.” 

“ Why, then,” replied Hansford, “if they are covert from 
his own followers, proclaim them traitors with himself ; or, 
if covert from the government, how can you ascertain that 
they are treasonable ? But, above all, if you suspected 
such traitorous designs, why, by your commission, elevate 
him to a position in which he may be able to execute them 
with success ?” 

“ ’Fore God, gentlemen, this is the most barefaced inso- 
lence that I have ever heard. For yourself, young man, 
out of your own mouth will I judge you, and convict you 
of treason ; and for your preceptor — whose lessons, I doubt 
not, you repeat by rote — you may tell him that his com- 
mission is null and void, because obtained by force and 
arms.” 

“ I had not expected to hear Sir William Berkeley make 
such an acknowledgment,” returned Hansford, undauntedly. 
“You yourself declared that the commission was not given 
from fear of threats; and even if this were not so, the 


216 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

argument would scarce avail — for on what compulsion was 
it that your signature appears in a letter to his majesty, 
warmly approving the conduct of General Bacon, and com- 
mending him for his zeal, talents and patriotism ?” * 

“ Now, by my knighthood,” said Berkeley, stung by this 
last unanswerable argument, “ I will not be bearded thus by 
an insolent, braggart boy. Seize him 1” he cried, turning 
to Bernard and Ludwell, who stood nearest him. “He is 
my prisoner, and as an example to his vile confederates, he 
shall hang in half an hour, until his traitorous tongue has 
stopped its vile wagging.” 

Hansford made no attempt to escape, but, as the two 
men approached to disarm and bind him, he fixed his fine 
blue eyes full upon Colonel Temple, and said, mildly, 

“ Shall this be so ? Though Sir William Berkeley should 
fail to respect my position, as the bearer of a peaceable 
message from General Bacon, I trust that the rites of hos- 
pitality may not be violated, even in my humble person.” 

Colonel Temple was much embarrassed. Notwithstand- 
ing the recent conduct of Hansford had alienated him to a 
great degree, he still entertained a strong affection for his 
boy — nor could he willingly see him suffer a wrong when 
he had thus so confidingly trusted to his generosity. But, 
apart from his special interest in Hansford, the old Vir- 
ginian had a religious regard for the sacred character of a 
guest, which he could never forget. x And yet, his blind 
reverence for authority — the bigoted loyalty which has 
always made the English people so cautious in resistance to 
oppression, and which retarded indeed our own colonial 
revolution — made him unwilling to oppose his character of 
host to the authority of the Governor. He looked first at 
Sir William Berkeley, and his resolution was made ; he 

* This was indeed true, and renders the conduct of Berkeley entirely 
inexplicable. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 217 

turned to Hansford, and as he saw his noble boy standing 
resolutely there, without a friend to aid him, it wavered. 
The poor old gentleman was sadly perplexed, but, after a 
brief struggle, his true, generous heart conquered, and he 
said, turning to Sir William : 

“ My honoured sir, I trust you will not let this matter 
proceed any further here. My house, my life, my all, is at 
the service of the king and of his representative ; but I 
question how far we are warranted in proceeding to 
extremities with this youth, seeing that although he is 
rather froward and pert in his manners, he may yet mean 
well after all.” 

“ Experience should have taught me,” replied Berkeley, 
coldly, for his evil genius was now thoroughly aroused, 
“ not to place too much confidence in the loyalty of the 
people of Gloucester. If Colonel Temple’s resolution to 
aid the crumbling power of the government has wavered at 
the sight of a malapert and rebellious boy, I had better 
relieve him of my presence, which must needs have become 
irksome to him.” 

“Nay, Sir William,” returned Temple, reddening at the 
imputation, “you shall not take my language thus. Let 
the youth speak for himself ; if he breathes a word of trea- 
son, his blood be on his own head — my hand nor voice 
shall be raised to save him. But I am unable to construe 
any thing which he has yet said as treasonable.” Then 
turning to Hansford, he added, “speak, Mr. Hansford, 
plainly and frankly. What was your object in thus com- 
ing? Were you sent by General Bacon, or did you come 
voluntarily ?” 

“ Both,” replied Hansford, with a full appreciation of 
the old man’s unfortunate position. “ It was my proposi- 
tion that some officer of the army should wait upon the 
Governor, and ascertain the truth of his rumoured procla- 
mation. I volunteered to discharge the duty in person.” 


218 


the devoted bride. 


“And in the event of your finding it to be true,” said 
Berkeley, haughtily, “ what course did you then intend to 
pursue ?” 

This was a dangerous question ; for Hansford knew that 
to express the design of the insurgents in such an event, 
would be little less than a confession of treason. But he 
had a bold heart, and without hesitation, but still maintain- 
ing his respectful manner, he replied, — 

“ I might evade an answer to your question, by saying* 
that it would then be time enough to consider and deter- 
mine our course. But I scorn to do so, even when my 
safety is endangered. I answer candidly then, that in such 
an event the worst consequences to the country and to 
yourself would ensue. It was to prevent these conse- 
quences, and as far as I could to intercede in restoring 
peace and quiet to our distracted colony, that I came to 
implore you to withdraw this proclamation. Otherwise, 
sir, the sword of the avenger is behind you, and within two 
days from this time you will be compelled once more to 
yield to a current that you cannot resist. Comply with 
my request, and peace and harmony will once more pre- 
vail ; refuse, and let who will triumph, the unhappy colony 
will be involved in all the horrors of civil war.” 

There was nothing boastful in the manner of Hansford, 
as he uttered these words. On the contrary, his whole 
bearing, while it showed inflexible determination, attested 
his sincerity in the wish that the Governor, for the good of 
the country, would yield to the suggestion. Nor did Sir 
William Berkeley, in spite of his indignation, fail to see the 
force and wisdom of the views presented ; but he had too 
much pride to acknowledge it to an inferior. 

“ Now, by my troth,” he cried, “if this be not treason, I 
am at a loss to define the term. I should think this would 
satisfy even your scepticism, Colonel Temple ; for it seems 
we must consult you in regard to our course while under 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 219 

your roof. You would scarcely consent, I trust, to a self- 
convicted traitor going at large.” 

“ Of course you act in tlie premises, according to your 
own judgment,” replied Temple, coldly, for he was justly 
offended at the overbearing manner of the incensed old 
Governor, “but since you have appealed to me for my 
opinion, I will e’en make bold to say, that as this young 
man came in the character of an intercessor, you might well 
be satisfied with his parole. I will myself be surety for his 
truth.” 

“ Parole, forsooth, and do you not think I have had 
enough of paroles from these rebel scoundrels — zounds, 
their faith is like an egg-shell, it is made to be broken.” 

“ With my sincere thanks to my noble friend,” said Hans- 
ford, “ for his obliging offer, I would not accept it if I could. 
Unconscious of having done any thing to warrant this de- 
tention, I am not willing to acknowledge its justice, by 
submitting to a qualified imprisonment.” 

“It is well,” said Berkeley, haughtily; “we will see 
whether your pride is proof against an ignominious 
death. Disarm him and hold him in close custody until 
my farther pleasure shall be known.” 

As he said this, Hansford was disarmed, and led away 
under a strong guard to the apartment which Colonel Tem- 
ple reluctantly designated as the place of his confinement. 

Meantime Berkenliead had remained at the gate, guarded 
by two of the soldiers of the Governor ; while old Giles, 
with a light heart, had found his way back to his old stand 
by the kitchen door, and was detailing to his astonished 
cronies the unlucky ventures, and the providential deliver- 
ance, which he had experienced. But we must forbear 
entering into a detailed account of the old man’s sermon, 
merely contenting ourselves with announcing, that such 
was the effect produced, that at the next baptizing day, 
old Elder Snivel was refreshed by a perfect pentecost of 


220 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


converts, who attributed their “new birf” to the wrestling 
of “brudder Giles.” 

We return to Berkenhead, who, at the command of Col. 
Ludwell, was escorted, under the guard before mentioned, 
into the presence of Sir William Berkeley. The dogged 
and insolent demeanour of the man was even more dis- 
pleasing to the Governor than the quiet and resolute man- 
ner of Hansford, and in a loud, threatening voice, he cried, 

“ Here comes another hemp-pulling knave. Tore God,, 
the colony will have to give up the cultivation of tobacco, 
and engage in raising hemp, for we are like to have some 
demand for it. Hark ye, sir knave — do you know the 
nature of the message which you have aided in bearing from 
the traitor Bacon to myself ?” 

“ Not I, your honour — no more than my carbine knows 
whether it is loaded or not. It’s little the General takes an 
old soldier like me into his counsels ; but I only know it is 
my duty to obey, if I were sent to the devil with a message,” 
and the villain looked archly at the Governor. 

“ Your language is something of the most insolent,” said 
Sir William. “ But tell me instantly, did you have no 
conversation with Major Hansford on your way hither, and 
if so, what was it ?” 

“Little else than abuse, your honour,” returned Ber- 
kenhead, “ and a threat that I would be beat over the head 
if I didn’t hold my tongue ; and as I didn’t care to con- 
verse at such a disadvantage, I was e’en content to keep 
my own counsel for the rest of the way.” 

“ Do you, or do you not, consider Bacon and his follow- 
ers to be engaged in rebellion against the government ?” 

“ Rebellion, your honour 1” cried the renegade. “ Why, was 
it not your honour’s self that sent us after these salvages ? 
An’ I thought there was any other design afloat, I would 
soon show them who was the rebel. It is not the first time 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 221 

that I have done the State some service by betraying trea- 
son.” 

“ Look ye,” said the Governor, eyeing the fellow keenly, 
“ if I mistake not, you are an old acquaintance. Is your 
name Berkenhead ?” 

“ The same, at your honour’s service.” 

“ And didn’t you betray the servile plot of 1662, and 
get your liberty and a reward for it ?” 

“ Yes, your honour, but I wouldn’t have you think that 
it was for the reward I did it ?” 

“ Oh, never mind your motives. If you are Judas, you 
are welcome to your thirty pieces of silver,” said the Gov- 
ernor, with a sneer of contempt. “ But to make the analogy 
complete, you should be hanged for your service.” 

“No, faith,” said the shrewd villain, quickly. “Judas 
hanged himself, and it would be long ere ever I sought the 
apostle’s elder tree.* And besides, his was the price of 
innocent blood, and mine was not. Look at my hand, your 
honour, and you will see what kind of blood I shed. ” 

Berkeley looked at the fellow’s hand, and saw it stained 
with the crimson life-blood of the young Indian. With a 
thrill of horror, he cried, “ What blood is that, you infernal 
villain ?” 

“ Only fresh from the veins of one of these painted red- 
skins,” returned Berkenhead. “And red enough he was 
when I left him ; but, forsooth, he reckons that the paint 
cost him full dear. He left his mark on Major Hansford, 
though, before he left.” 

“ Where did this happen ?” said Berkeley, astonished. 

“ Oh, not far from here. The red devil was a friend at 
the hall here, too, or as much so as their bloody hearts will 
let any of them be. Colonel Temple, there, knows him, 
and I have seen him when I lived in Gloucester. A fine 


* The name given to the tree on which Judas hanged himself. 


222 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


looking fellow, too ; and if his skin and his heart had been 
both white, there would have been few better and braver 
dare-devils than young Manteo.” 

As he pronounced the name, a wild shriek rent the air, 
and the distracted Mamalis rushed into the porch. Her 
long hair was all dishevelled and flying loosely over her 
shoulders, her eye was that of a maniac in his fury, and 
tossing her bare arms aloft, she shrieked, in a wild, harsh 
voice, 

“And who are you, that dare to spill the blood of 
kings ? Look to it that your own flows not less freely in 
your veins.” 

Berkenhead turned pale with fright, and shrinking from 
the enraged girl, muttered, “the devil 1” — while Temple, in 
a low voice, whispered to the Governor the necessary 
explanation, “ She is his sister. ” 

“'Yes, his sister!” cried the girl, wildly, for she had 
overheard the words. “ His only sister ! — and my blood 
now flows in no veins but my own. But the stream runs 
more fiercely as the channel is more narrow. Look to it — 
look to it !” And, with another wild shriek, the maddened 
girl rushed again into thb house. It required all the tender 
care of Virginia Temple to pacify the poor creature. She 
reasoned, she prayed, she endeavoured to console her ; but 
her reasons, her prayers, her sweet words of consolation, 
were all lost upon the heart of the Indian maiden, who 
nourished but one fearful, fatal idea — revenge ! 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


223 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

" His flight was madness.” 

Macbeth. 

Yes, Virginia ! She who had so much reason for con- 
solation herself, forgot her own sorrows for the time, in 
administering the oil of consolation to the poor, wounded, 
broken-hearted savage girl. She had been sitting at the 
window of the little parlour, where she could witness the 
whole scene, and hear the whole interview between the 
Governor aad Hansford ; and oh ! how her heart had sunk 
within her as she heard the harsh sentence of the stern old 
knight, which condemned her noble, friendless lover to 
imprisonment, perhaps to death ; and yet, a maiden modesty 
restrained her from yielding to the impulse of the moment, 
to throw herself at the feet of Berkeley, confess her love, 
and implore his pardon. Alas 1 ill-fated maiden, it would 
have been in vain — as she too truly, too fatally discovered 
afterwards. 

The extraordinary appearance and conduct of Mamalis 
broke up for the present any further conference with Ber- 
kenhead, who — his mendacity having established his inno- 
cence in the minds of the loyalists — walked off with a 
swaggering gait, rather elated than otherwise with the 
result of his interview. Alfred Bernard followed him until 
they turned an angle of the house, and stood beneath the 
shade of one of the broad oaks, which spread its protecting 
branches over the yard. 

Meantime the Governor, with such of his council as had 
attended him to Windsor Hall, retired to the study of the 
old Colonel, which had been fitted up both for the chamber 


224 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


of his most distinguished guest and for the deliberations of 
the council. The subject which now engaged their atten- 
tion was one of more importance than any that had ever 
come before them since the commencement of the dissen- 
sions in Virginia. The mission of Hansford, while it had 
failed of producing the effect which he so ardently desired, 
had, notwithstanding, made a strong impression upon the 
mind of the Governor. He saw too plainly that it would 
be vain to resist the attack of Bacon, at the head of five 
hundred men, among whom were to be ranked the very 
i.hivalrv of Virginia ; while his own force consisted merely 
of his faithful adherents in the council, and about fifty mer- 
cenary troops, whose sympathies with the insurgents were 
strongly suspected. 

“ I see,” said the old man, gloomily, as he took his seat 
at the council-board, “that I must seek some other refuge. 
I am hunted like a wild beast from place to place, through 
a country that was once my own, and by those who were 
once the loving subjects of my king.” 

“ Remain here 1” said the impulsive old Temple. “ The 
people of Gloucester will yet rally around your standard, 
when they see open treason is contemplated ; and should 
they still refuse, zounds, we may yet offer resistance with 
my servants and slaves.” 

“ My dear friend,” said Berkeley, sorrowfully, “ if all 
Virginians were like yourself, there would have been no re- 
bellion — there would have been no difficulty in suppressing 
one, if attempted. But alas ! the loyalty of the people of 
Gloucester has already been weighed in the balance and 
found wanting. No, I have acted hastily, foolishly, blindly. 
I have warmed this serpent into life by my forbearance and 
•indulgence, and must at last be the victim of its venom and 
my folly. Oh ! that I had refused the commission, which 
armed this traitor with legal power. I have put a sword 


the Devoted bride. 225 

into the hands of an enemy, and may be the first to fall 
by it.” 

“ It is useless to repine over the past,” said Philip Lud- 
well, kindly; “but the power of these rebels cannot last 
long. The people who are loyal at heart 'will fall from 
their support, and military aid will be received from Eng- 
land ere long. Then the warmed reptile may be crushed.” 

“ To my mind,” said Ballard, “it were better to repair 
the evil that has been done by retracing our steps, rather 
than to proceed further. When a man is over his depth, 
he had better return to the shore than to attempt to cross 
the unfathomable stream.” 

“ Refrain from enigmas, if you please,” said Berkeley, 
coldly, “and tell me to what you refer.” 

“ Simply,” replied Ballard, firmly, “ that all this evil has 
resulted from your following the Jesuitical counsel of a boy, 
rather than the prudent caution of your advisers. My 
honoured sir, forgive me if I say it is now your duty to 
acquiesce in the request of Major Hansford, and withdraw 
your proclamation. ” 

“And succumb to traitors!” cried Berkeley. “Never 
while God gives me breath to reiterate it. He who w'ould 
treat with a traitor, is himself but little better than a 
traitor.” 

The flush which mounted to the brow of Ballard attested 
his indignation at this grave charge ; but before he had 
time to utter the retort which rose to his lips, Berkeley 
added, 

‘^Forgive me, Ballard, for my haste. But the bare idea 
of making terms with these audacious rebels roused my 
very blood. No, no I I can die in defence of my trust, but 
I cannot, will not yield it.” 

“ But it is not yielding,” said Ballard. 

“Nay — no more of that,” interrupted Berkeley; “let us 
devise some other means. I have it,” he added, after a 
14 


226 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


pause. “ Aecomac is still true to my interest, and divided 
from the mainland by the bay, is difficult of access. There 
will I pitch my tent, and sound my defiance — and when aid 
shall come from England, these proud and insolent traitors 
shall feel the power of my vengeance the more for this insult 
to my weakness.” 

This scheme met with the approbation of all present, 
with the exception of old Ballard, who shook his head, and 
muttered, that he- hoped it might all be for the best. And 
so it was determined that early the next morning the loyal 
refugees should embark on board a vessel then lying off 
TindaPs Point, and sail for Accomac. 

“And we will celebrate our departure by hanging up 
that young rogue, Hansford, in half an hour,” said Berkeley. 

“ By what law, may it please your excellency ?” asked 
Ballard, surprised at this threat. 

“ By martial law.” 

“ And for what offence ?” 

“ Why zounds, Ballard, you have turned advocate-general 
for all the rebels in the country,” said Berkeley, petulantly. 

“No, Sir William, I am advocating the cause of justice 
and of my king ” 

“ Well, sir, what would you advise ? To set the rogue 
at liberty, I suppose, and by our leniency to encourage 
treason.” 

“ By no means,” said Ballard. “ But either to commit 
him to custody until he may be fairly tried by a jury of his 
peers, or to take him with you to Accomac, where, by fur- 
ther developments of this insurrection, you may better judge 
of the nature of his offence.” 

“And a hospitable reception would await me in Acco- 
mac, forsooth, if I appeared there with a prisoner of war, 
whom I did not have the firmness to punish as his crime 
deserves. No, by heaven 1 I will not be encumbered with 
prisoners. Hi? life is forfeit to the law, and as he would 


% 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 227 

prove an apostle of liberty, let him be a martyr to liis 
cause.’’ 

“ Let me add my earnest intercession to that of Colonel 
Ballard,” said Temple, “in behalf of this unhappy man. 
I surely have some claim upon your benevolence, and I ask 
his life as a personal boon to me.” 

“ Oh, assuredly, since you rely upon your hospitable pro- 
tection to us, you should have your fee,” said Berkeley, with 
a sneer. “ But not in so precious a coin as a rebel’s life. 
If you have suffered by the protection afforded to the 
deputy of your king, you shall not lack remuneration. But 
the coin shall be the head of Carolus II. j* this rebel’s head 
I claim as my own.” 

“JSow, by heaven 1” returned Temple, thoroughly aroused, 
“ it requires all my loyalty to stomach so foul an insult. My 
royal master’s exchequer could illy remunerate me for the 
gross language heaped upon me by his deputy. But let 
this pass. You are my guest, sir ; and that I cannot sepa- 
rate the Governor from the man, I am prevented from 
resenting an insult, which else I could but little brook.” 

“ As you please, mine host,” replied Berkeley. “ But, 
in truth, I have wronged you, Temple. But think, my 
friend, of the pang the shepherd must feel, when he finds 
that he has let a wolf into his fold, which he is unable to 
resist. Oh, think of this, and bear with me 1” 

Temple knew the old Governor too well to doubt the 
sincerity of this retraxit, and with a cordial grasp of the 
hand, he assured Berkeley of his forgiveness. “And yet,” 
he added, warmly, “ I cannot forget the cause I advocate, 
for this first rebuff. Believe me, Sir William, you will gain 
nothing, but lose much, by proceeding harshly against this 
unhappy young man. In the absence of any evidence of 
his guilt, you will arouse the indignation of the colonists to 
such a height, that it will be difficult to pacify them.” 

* The coin during the reign of Charles II. 


228 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

“ Pardon me, Sir William Berkeley,” said Bernard, who 
had joined the party, “ but would it not be well to examine 
this knave, Berkenhead, touching the movemeuts and inten- 
tions of the insurgents, and particularly concerning any 
expressions which may have fallen from this young gentle- 
man ? If it . shall appear that he is guiltless of the crime 
imputed to him, then you may safely yield to the solicita- 
tions of these gentlemen, and liberate him. But if it shall 
appear that he is guilty, they, in their turn, cannot object 
to his meeting the penalty which his treason richly de- 
serves.” 

“ Now, by heaven, the young man speaks truthfully and 
wisely,” said Temple, assured, by the former interview with 
Berkenhead, that he knew of nothing which could convict 
the prisoner. “ Nor do I see, Sir William, what better 
course you can adopt than to follow his counsel.” 

“ Truly,” said Berkeley, “ the young man has proven 
himself the very Elihu of counsellors. * Great men are not 
always wise, neither do the aged understand judgment. 
But there is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the 
Almighty giveth them understanding.’ Yet I fear, Colonel 
Temple, you will scarcely, after my impetuosity just now, 
deem me a Job for patience, though Alfred may be an 
Elihu for understanding. Your counsel is good, young 
naan. Let the knave be brought hither to testify, and look 
ye that the prisoner be introduced to confront him. My 
friends, Ballard and Temple, are such sticklers for law, that 
we must not deviate from Magna Charta or the Petition of 
Bight. But stay, we will postpone this matter till the 
morrow. I had almost forgotten it was the Sabbath. 
Loyal churchmen should venerate the day, even when trea- 
son is abroad in the land. Meantime, let the villain Ber- 
kenhead be kept in close custody, lest he should escape.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


229 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ I tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way.” 

King John. 

The reader will naturally desire to know what induced 
the milder counsel recommended by Alfred Bernard to the 
Governor. If we have been successful in impressing upon 
the mind of the reader a just estimate of the character of 
the young jesuit, he will readily conjecture that it was from 
no kindly feeling for his rival, and no inherent love of jus- 
tice that he suggested such a policy; and if he be of a 
different opinion, he need only go back with us to the 
interview between Bernard and Berkenhead, to which allu- 
sion was made in the chapter immediately preceding the 
last. 

We have said that Alfred Bernard followed the renegade 
rebel until they stood together beneath a large oak tree 
which stood at the corner of the house. Here they stopped 
as if by mutual, though tacit consent, and Berkenhead turn- 
ing sharply around upon his companion, said in an offended 
tone — “What is your further will with me sir?” 

“ You seem not to like your comrade Major Hansford ?” 

“Oh well enough,” replied Berkenhead; “there are 
many better and many worse than him. But I don’t see 
how the likes and the dislikes of a poor soldier can have 
any concernment with you.” 

“ I assure you,” said Bernard, “it is from no impertinent 
curiosity, but a real desire to befriend you, that I ask the 
question. The Governor strongly suspects your integrity, 
and that you are concealing from him more than it suits 


230 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


you to divulge. Now, I would do you a service and advise 
you how you may reinstate yourself in his favour. ” 

“ Well that seems kind on the outside,” said the soldier, 
“ seeing as you seems to be one of the blooded gentry, and 
I am nothing but a plain Dunstable.* But rough iron is 
as soft as polished steel.” 

“I believe you,” said Bernard. “Now you have not 
much reason to waste your love on this Major Hansford. 
He threatened to beat you, as you say, and a freeborn 
Englishman does not bear an iusult like that with im- 
punity. ” 

“ No, your honour,” replied the man, “and I’ve known 
the day when a Plymouth cloak f would protect me from 
insult as well as a frieze coat from cold. But I am too old 
for that now, and so I had better swallow an insult dry, 
than butter it with my own marrow.” 

“And are there not other modes of revenge than by a 
blow ? Where are your wits, man ? What makes the man 
stronger than the horse that carries him ? I tell you, a keen 
wit is to physical force what your carbine is to the toma- 
hawk of these red-skins. It fires at a distance.” 

The old soldier looked up with a gleam of intelligence, 
and Bernard continued — 

“Bethink you, did you hear nothing from Hansford by 
which you might infer that his ultimate design was to over- 
turn the government?” 

“ Why I can’t exactly say that I did,” returned the fel- 
low. “ To be sure they all prate about liberty and the like, 
but I reckon that is an Englishman’s privilege, providing 
he takes it out in talking. But there may be fire in the 
bed-straw for all my ignorance. ”J 

“Well, I am sorry for you,” said Bernard, “for if you 

* An old English expression for a rough, honest fellow. 

f A bludgeon. 

t There may be danger in the design. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 231 

could only remember any thing to convict this young rebel, 
I would warrant you a free pardon and a sound neck.” 

“ Well, now, as I come to think of it,” said the unscru- 
pulous renegade, “ there might be some few things he let 
drop, not much in themselves, but taken together, as might 
weave a right strong tow ; and zounds, I don’t think a man 
can be far wrong to untwist the rope about his own neck 
by tying it to another. For concerning of life, your 
honour, while I have no great care to risk it in battle, I 
don’t crave to choke it out with one of these hemp cravats. 
And so being as I have already done the state some ser- 
vice, I feel it my duty to save her if I can.” 

“ Now, thanks to that catch-word of the rogue,” mut- 
tered Bernard, “ I am like to have easy work to-night. 
Hark ye, Mr. Berkenhead,” he added, aloud, “I think it is 
likely that the Governor may wish to ask you a question or 
two touching this matter of which we have been speaking. 
In the meantime here is something which may help you to 
get along with these soldiers,” and he placed a sovereign 
in the fellow’s hand. 

“ Thank your honour,” said Berkenhead, humbly, “ and 
seeing its not in the way of bribe, I suppose I may take it.” 

“ Oh, no bribe,” replied Bernard, smiling, “but mark me, 
tell a good story. The stronger your evidence the safer is 
your head.” 

Bernard returned, as we have seen, to the Governor, for 
the further, development of his diabolical designs, and in a 
short time Berkenhead, under a guard of soldiers, was con- 
ducted to his quarters for the night, in a store-house which 
stood in the yard some distance from the house. 

As the house to which the renegade insurgent was con- 
signed was deemed sufficiently secure, and the soldiers 
wearied with a long march, were again to proceed on their 
journey on the morrow, it was not considered necessary to 
place a guard before the door of this temporary cell — the 


232 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


precaution, however, being taken to appoint a sentry at 
each side of the mansion-house, and at the door of the 
apartment in which the unhappy Hansford was confined. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“ Ha ! sure he sleeps — all’s dark within save what 
A lamp, that feebly lifts a sickly flame, 

By fits reveals. His face seems turned to favour 
The attempt. I’ll steal and do it unperceived.” 

Mourning Bride. 

All were wrapt in silence and in slumber, save the weary 
sentinels, who paced drowsily up and down before the door 
of the house, humming in a low tone the popular Lillibul- 
lero, or silently communing with their brother sentry in the 
sky. The family, providing for the fatigues of the follow- 
ing day, had early retired to rest, and even Virginia, worn 
down by excitement and agitation, having been assured by 
her father of the certain safety of Hansford, had yielded to 
the restoring influences of sleep. How little did the art- 
less girl, or her unsuspicious father, suppose that beneath 
their roof they had been cherishing a demon, who, by his 
wily machinations, was weaving a web around his innocent 
victim, cruel and inextricable. 

We have said that all save the watchful sentinels were 
sleeping ; but one there was from whose eyes and from 
whose heart revenge had driven sleep. Mamalis — the poor, 
hapless Mamalis — whose sorrows had been forgotten in the 
general excitement which had prevailed — Mamalis knew 
but one thought, and that was no dream. Her brother, 




THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 233 

the pride and refuge of her maiden heart, lay stiff and mur- 
dered by the way-side — his death unwept, his dirge unsung, 
his brilliant hopes of fame cut off ere they had fully budded. 
And his murderer was near her ! Could she hesitate ? 
Had she not been taught, in her simple faith, that the blood 
of the victim requires the blood of his destroyer ? The 
voice of her brother’s blood called to her from the ground. 
Nor did it call in vain. It is true, he had been harsh, nay 
sometimes even cruel to her, but when was woman’s heart, 
when moved to softness, ever mindful of the wrongs she 
had endured ? Ask yourself, when standing by the lifeless 
corse of one whom you have dearly loved, if then you can 
remember aught but kindness, and love, and happiness, in 
your association with the loved one. One gentle word, one 
sweet smile, one generous action, though almost faded from 
the memory before, obscures forever all the recollection of 
wrongs inflicted and injuries endured. 

She was in the room occupied by Virginia Temple. Oh, 
what a contrast between the two ! Yes, there they were — 
Revenge and Innocence ! The one lay pure and beautiful 
in sleep ; her round, white arm thrown back upon the pil- 
low, to form a more snowy resting place for her lovely 
cheek. From beneath her cap some tresses had escaped, 
which, happy in release, were sporting in the soft air that 
wooed them through the open window. Her face, at other 
times too spiritually pale, was now slightly flushed by the 
sultry warmth of the night. A smile of peaceful happiness 
played around her lips, as she dreamed, perhaps, of some 
wild flower ramble which in happier days she had had with 
Hansford. Her snowy bosom, which in her restlessness 
she had nearly bared, was white and swelling as a wave 
which plays in the calm moonlight. Such was the beautiful 
being who lay sleeping calmly in the arms of Innocence, 
while the dark, but not less striking, form of the Indian 
girl bent over, to discover if she slept. She wag dressed as 


234 


THE- DEVOTED BK1DE. 


we have before described, with the short deer-skin smock, 
extending to her knees, and fitted closely round the waist 
with a belt of wampum. Her long black hair was bound 
by a simple riband, and fell thickly over her shoulders in 
dark profusion. In her left hand she held a lamp, and it 
was fearful to mark, by its faint, glimmering light, the 
intense earnestness of her countenance. There were some 
traces of tears upon her cheek, but these were nearly dried. 
Her bright black eyes were lighted by a strange, unnatural 
fire, which they never knew before. It seemed as though 
you might see them in the dark. In her right hand she 
held a small dagger, which he had given her as a pledge of 
a brother’s love. Fit instrument to avenge a brother’s 
death ! 

She seemed to be listening and watching to hear or see 
the slightest movement from the slumbering maiden. But 
all was still ! 

“I slept not thus,” she murmured, “the night I heard 
him vow his vengeance against your father. Before the 
birds had sung their morning song I came to warn you. 
Now all I loved, my country, my friends, my brother, have 
gone forever, and none shares the tears of the Indian 
maiden.” 

She turned away with a sigh from the bedside of Vir- 
ginia, and carefully replaced the dagger in her belt. She 
then took a key which was lying on the table and clutched 
it with an air of triumph. That key she had stolen from 
the pocket of Alfred Bernard while he slept — for what will 
not revenge, and woman’s revenge, dare to do. Then 
taking up a water pitcher, and extinguishing the light, she 
softly left the room. 

As she endeavoured to pass the outer door she was 
accosted by the hoarse voice of the sentinel — “ Who comes 
there ?” he cried. 

“A friend,” she answered, timidly. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 235 

“You cannot pass, friend, without a permit from the 
Governor. Them’s his orders.” 

“ I go to bring some water for the sick maiden,” she 
said earnestly, showing him the pitcher. “ She is far from 
well. Let her not suffer for a draught of water.” 

“Well,” said the pliant soldier, yielding; “you are a 
good pleader, pretty one. That dark face of yours looks 
devilish well by moonlight. What say you ; if I let you 
pass, will you come and sit with me when you get back ? 
It’s damned lonesome out here by myself. ” 

“ I will do any thing you wish when I return,” said the 
girl. 

“ Easily won, by Wenus,” said the gallant soldier, as he 
permitted Mamalis to pass on her supposed errand. 

Freed from this obstruction, she glided rapidly through 
the yard, and soon stood before the door of the small house 
which she had learned was appropriated as the prison of 
Berkenhead. Turning the key softly in the lock, she pulled 
the latch-string and gently opened the door. A flood of 
moonlight streamed upon the floor, encumbered with a 
variety of plantation utensils. By the aid of this light 
Mamalis soon recognized the form and features of the fated 
Berkenhead, who was sleeping in one corner of the room. 
She knelt over him and feasted her eyes with the anticipa- 
tion of her deep revenge. Fearing to be defeated in her 
design, for with her it was the foiled attempt and “not the 
act which might confound,” she bared his bosom and sought 
his heart. The motion startled the sleeping soldier. “ The 
devil,” he said, half opening his eyes; “its damned light.” 
Just as he pronounced the last word the fatal dagger of 
Mamalis found its way into his heart. “It is all dark 
now,” she said, bitterly, and rising from her victim, she 
glided through the door and left him with his God. 

With the native shrewdness of her race, Mamalis did not 
forget that she had still to play a part, and so without 


233 THE DEYOTED BRIDE. 

returning directly to the house, she repaired to the well 
and filled her pitcher. She even offered the sentinel a 
drink as she repassed him on her return, and promising 
once more to come back, when she had carried the water 
to the “sick maiden,” she stole quietly into the room occu- 
pied by Bernard, replaced the key in his pocket as before, 
and hastened up stairs again. 

And there seated once more by the bedside of the sleep- 
ing Virginia, the young Indian girl sang, in a low voice, 
at once her song of triumph and her brother’s dirge, in 
that rich oriental improvisation for which the Indians were 
so remarkable. We will not pretend to give in the original 
the words of this beautiful requiem, but furnish the reader, in 
default of a better, with the following free translation, which 
may give some faint idea of its beauty : — 

“ They have plucked the flower from the garden of my 
heart, and have torn the soil where it tenderly grew. He 
was bright and beautiful as the bounding deer, and the 
shaft from his bow was as true as his unchanging soul 1 
Best with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother. ! 

“ The Great Spirit looked down in pity on my brother ; 
Manitou has snatched him from the hands of the dreadful 
Okee. On the shores of the spirit-land, with the warriors 
of his tribe he sings the song of his glory, and chases the 
spirit deer over the immaterial plains ! Best with the Great 
Spirit, soul of my brother I 

“ But I, his sister, am left lonely and desolate ; the 
hearth-stone of Mamalis is deserted. Yet has my hand 
sought revenge for his murder, and my bosom exults over 
the destruction of his destroyer! Best with the Great 
Spirit, soul of my brother ! 

“ Best with the Great Spirit, soul of Manteo, till Mama- 
lis shall come to enjoy thy embraces. Then welcome to 
thy spirit home the sister of thy youth, and reward with 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 237 

thy love the avenger of thy death ! Rest with the Great 
Spirit, soul of my brother !” 

As her melancholy requiem died away, Mamalis rose 
silently from the seat, and bent once more over the form of 
the sleeping Virginia. As she felt the warm breath of the 
pure young girl upon her cheek, and watched the regular 
beating ot her heart, and then contrasted the purity of the 
sleeping maiden with her own wild, guilty nature, she 
started back in horror. For the first time she felt remorse 
at the commission of her crime, and with a heavy sigh she 
hurriedly left the room, as though it were corrupted by her 
presence. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“ And smile, and smile, and smile, and be a villain.” 

Hamlet. 

Great was the horror of the loyalists, on the following 
morning, at the discovery of the horrible crime which had 
been perpetrated ; but still greater was the mystery as to 
who was the guilty party. There was no mode of getting 
admittance to the house in which Berkenhead was confined, 
except through the door, the key of which was in the pos- 
session of Alfred Bernard. Even if the position and stand- 
ing of this young man had not repelled the idea that he 
was cognizant of the crime, his own unfeigned surprise at 
the discovery, and the absence of any motive for its com- 
mission, acquitted him in the minds of all. And yet, if this 
hypothesis was avoided, it was impossible to form any 


238 the devoted bride. 

rational theory on the subject. There were but two per- 
sons connected with the establishment who could be pre- 
sumed to have any plausible motive for murdering Berken- 
head. Hansford might indeed be suspected of a desire to 
suppress evidence which would be dangerous to his own 
safety, but then Hansford was himself in close confinement. 
Mamalis, too, had manifested a spirit, the evening before, 
towards the unhappy man, which might very naturally sub- 
ject her to suspicion ; but, besides that, she played her part 
of surprise to perfection — it could not be conceived how 
she had gotten possession of the key of the room. The 
sentinel might indeed have thrown much light upon the 
subject, but he kept his own counsel for fear of the conse- 
quences of disobedience to orders ; and he boldly asserted 
that no one had left the house during the night. This evi- 
dence, taken in connection with the fact that the young girl 
was found sleeping, as usual, in the little room adjoining 
Virginia’s chamber, entirely exculpated her from any par- 
ticipation in the crime. Nothing then was left for it, but 
to suppose that the unhappy man, in a fit of desperation, 
had himself put a period to his existence. A little investi- 
gation might have easily satisfied them that such an hypo- 
thesis was as groundless as the rest ; for it was afterwards 
ascertained by Colonel Temple, after a strict search, that 
no weapon was found on or near the body, nor in the apart- 
ment where it lay. But Sir 'William Berkeley, anxious to 
proceed upon his way to Accomac, and caring but little, 
perhaps, for the fate of a rebel, whose life was probably 
shortened but a few hours, gave the affair a very hurried 
and summary examination. Bernard, with his quick saga- 
city, discovered, or at least shrewdly suspected, the truth, 
and Mamalis felt, as he fixed his dark eyes upon her, that 
he had read the mystery of her heart. But, for his own 
reasons, the villain for the present maintained the strictest 
Bilence on the subject. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


239 


But this catastrophe, so fatal to Berkenhead, was fortu- 
nate for young Hansford. The Governor, more true to his 
word to loyalists than he had hitherto been to the insur- 
gents, released our hero from imprisonment, in the absence 
of any testimony against him. And, to the infinite chagrin 
of Alfred Bernard, his rival, once more at liberty, was 
again, in the language of the treacherous Plantagenet, “ a 
very serpent in his way.” He had too surely discovered, 
that so long as Hansford lived, the heart of Virginia Tem- 
ple, or what he valued far more, her hand, could never be 
given to another ; and yet he felt, that if he were out of the 
way, and that heart, though widowed, free to choose again, 
the emotions of mistaken gratitude would prompt her to 
listen with favour to his suit. With, all his faults, too, and 
with his mercenary motives, Bernard was not without a 
feeling, resembling love, for Virginia. We are told that 
there are fruits and flowers which, though poisonous in their 
native soil, when transplanted and cherished under more 
genial circumstances, become at once fair to the eye and 
wholesome to the taste. It is thus with love. In the wild, 
sterile heart of Alfred Bernard it had taken root, and 
poisoned all his nature ; but yet it was the same emotion 
which shed a genial influence over the manly heart of Hans- 
ford. If it had been otherwise, there were some as fair, 
and many far more wealthy, in his adopted colony, than 
Virginia Temple. But she was at once adapted to his inte- 
rests, his passions, and his intellect. She could aid his 
vaulting ambition by sharing with him her wealth j she 
could control, by the strength of her character, and the 
sweetness of her disposition, his own wild nature ; and she 
could be the instructive and congenial companion of his 
intellect. And all this rich treasure might be his but for 
the existence, the rivalry of the hated Hansford. Still his 
ardent nature led him to hope. With all his heart he would 
engage in quelling the rebellion, which he foresaw was 


240 TITE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

about to burst upon the colony; and then revenge, the 
sweetest morsel to the jealous mind, was his. Meantime, 
he must look the innocent flower, but be the serpent under 
it ; and curbing his own feelings, must, under pretence of 
friendship and interest for a rival, continue to plot his ruin. 
Alfred Bernard was equal to the task. 

It was with these feelings that he sought Virginia Tem- 
ple on the eve of his departure from Windsor Hall. The 
young girl was seated, with her lover, on a rude, rustic 
bench, beneath the large oak where Bernard had, the eve- 
ning before, had an interview with the unfortunate Berken- 
head. As he approached, she rose, and with her usual 
winning frankness of manner, she extended her hand. 

“ Come, Mr. Bernard,” she said, “ I have determined 
that you and Major Hansford shall be friends.” 

“ Most willingly, on my part,” said the smooth-tongued 
Bernard. “ And I think I have given the best evidence of 
my disposition to be so, by aiding feebly in restoring to 
Miss Temple an old friend, when she must now so soon part 
with her more recent acquaintance.” 

“ I am happy to think,” said Hansford, whose candour 
prevented him from suppressing entirely the coldness of his 
manner, “ that I am indebted to Mr. Bernard for any inte- 
rest he may have taken in my behalf. I hope, sir, you will 
now add to the obligation under which I at preseat rest to 
you, by apprising me in what manner you have so greatly 
obliged me.” 

“ Why, you must be aware,” replied Bernard, “ that your 
present freedom from restraint is due to my interposition 
with Sir William Berkeley.” 

“Oh yes, indeed,” interposed Virginia, “for I heard my 
father say that it was Mr. Bernard’s wise suggestion, adopted 
by the Governor, which secured your release.” 

“ Hardly so,” returned Hansford, “even if such were his 
disposition. But, if I am rightly informed, your assistance 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


241 


only extended to a very natural request, that I should not 
be judged guilty so long as there was no evidence to con- 
vict me. If I am indebted to Mr. Bernard for impressing 
upon the mind of the Governor a principle of law as old, 1 
believe, as Magna Charta, I must e’en render him the thanks 
which are justly his due, and which he seems so anxious to 
demand.” 

“ Mr. Hansford,” said Virginia, “ why will you persist 
in being so obstinate ? Is it such a hard thing, after all, 
for one brave man to owe his life to another, or for an inno- 
cent man to receive justice at the hands of a generous one ? 
And at least, I should think,” she added, with the least 
possible pout, “ that, when I ask as a favour that you should 
be friends, you should not refuse me.” 

“Indeed, Miss Virginia,” said Alfred Bernard, without 
evincing the slightest mark of displeasure; “you urge this 
reconciliation too far. If Major Hansford have some 
secret cause of enmity or distrust towards me, of which I 
am ignorant, I beg that you will not force him to express 
a sentiment which his heart does not entertain. And as 
for his gratitude, which he seems to think that I demand, 
I assure you, that for any service which I may have done 
him, I am sufficiently compensated by my own conscious- 
ness of rectitude of purpose, and nobly rewarded by secur- 
ing your approving smile.” 

“ Nobly, generously said, Mr. Bernard,” replied Vir- 
ginia, “and now I have indeed mistaken Mr. Hansford’s 
character if he fail to make atonement for his backward- 
ness, by a full, free, and cordial reconciliation.” 

“ I must needs give you my left hand, then,” said Hans- 
ford, extending his hand with as much cordiality as he 
could assume ; “ my right arm is disabled as you perceive, 
by a wound inflicted by one of the enemies of my country, 
against whom it. would seem it is treason to battle.” 

“ Nay, if you go into that hateful subject again,” said 
15 


242 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Virginia, “I fear there is not much cordiality in your 
heart yet.” 

“ Oh ! you are mistaken, Miss Temple,” said Bernard, 
gaily ; “you must remember the old adage, that the left is 
nearest to the heart. Believe me, Major Hansford and 
myself will be good friends yet, and when we hereafter shall 
speak of our former estrangement, it will only be to remem- 
ber by whose gentle influence we were reconciled. But 
permit me to hope, Major, that your wound is not serious.” 

“ A mere trifle, I believe, sir,” returned Hansford, “ but 
I am afaid I will suffer some inconvenience from it for some 
time, as it is the sword arm ; and in these troublous times 
it may fail me, when it should be prepared to defend.” 

“An that were the only use to which you would apply 
it,” said Virginia, half laughing, and half in earnest, “I 
would sincerely hope that it might never heal.” 

“ Oh fear not but that it will soon heal,” said Bernard 
“The most dangerous wounds are inflicted here,” laying 
his hand upon his heart ; “ a wound dealt not by a savage, 
but by an angel ; not from the arrow of the ambushed In- 
dian, but from the quiver of the mischievous little blind 
boy — and the more fatal, because we insanely delight to 
inflame the wound instead of seeking to cure it. ” 

“ Well really, Mr. Bernard,” said Virginia, rallying the 
gay young euphuist, “ the flowers of gallantry which you 
have brought from Windsor Court, thanks to your foster- 
ing care, flourish quite as sweetly in this wilderness of 
Windsor Hall. Take pity on an illiterate colonial girl, 
and tell me whether this is the language of Waller, Cowley 
or Dryden ?” 

“ It is the language of the heart, Miss Temple, on the 
present occasion at least,” said Bernard, gravely; “for I 
am admonished that it is time I should say farewell. 
Without flowers or poetry, Miss Virginia, I bid you 
adieu. May you be happy, and derive from your asso- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


243 


ciation with others that high enjoyment which you are so 
capable of bestowing. Farewell, Major Hansford, we may 
meet again, I trust, when it will not be necessary to invoke 
the interposition of a fair mediator to effect a reconcilia- 
tion.” 

Hansford well understood the innuendo contained in the 
last words of Bernard, but taking the well-timed hint, 
refrained from expressing it more clearly, and gave his 
hand to his rival with every appearance of cordiality. 
And Virginia, misconstruing the words of the young 
jesuit, frankly extended her own hand, which he pressed 
respectfully to his lips, and then turned silently away. 

u Well, I am delighted,” said Virginia to her lover, when 
they were thus left alone, “ that you are at last friends with 
Bernard. You see now that I was right and you were 
wrong in our estimates of his character.” 

“ Indeed I do not, my dear Virginia ; on the contrary, 
this brief interview has but confirmed my previously formed 
opinion.” 

“ Oh! that, is impossible, Hansford; you are too suspi- 
cious, indeed you are. I never saw more refinement and 
delicacy blended with more real candour. Indeed, Hans- 
ford, he is a noble fellow.” 

“ I am sorry to differ with yon, dearest; but to my mind 
his refinement is naught but jesuitical craft ; his delicacy the 
result of an educational schooling of the lip, to conceal the 
real feelings of his heart; and his candour but the gilt 
washing which appears like gold, but after all, only hides 
the baser metal beneath it.” 

“ Well, in my life I never heard such perversion! Beally, 
Hansford, you will make me think you are jealous.” 

“ Jealous, Virginia, jealous !” said Hansford, in a sorrow- 
ful tone. “ Alas ! if I were even capable of such a feeling, 
what right have I to entertain it ? Your heart is free, and 
torn from the soil which once cherished it, may be trans- 


244 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

planted elsewhere, while the poor earth where once it grew 
can only hope now and then to feel the fragrance which it 
\ sheds on all around. No, not jealous, Yirginia, whatever 
else I may be 1” 

“You speak too bitterly, Hansford; have I not assured 
you that though a harsh fate may sever us; though parental 
authority may deny you my hand, yet my heart is unalter- 
ably yours. But tell me, why it is that you can see nothing 
good in this young man, and persist in perverting every 
sentiment, every look, every expression to his injury ?” 

Before Hansford could reply, the shrill voice of Mrs. 
Temple was heard, crying out, “ Yirginia Temple, Yirginia 
Temple, why where can the child have got to l” — and at the 
same moment the old lady came bustling roiftid the house, 
and discovered the unlawful interview of the lovers. 

Rising hastily from her seat, Yirginia advanced to her 
mother, who, without giving her time to speak, even had 
she been so inclined, sang out at the top of her voice — 
“ Come along, my daughter. Here are the guests in your 
father’s house kept waiting in the porch to tell you good- 
bye, and you, forsooth, must be talking, the Lord knows 
what, to that young scape-gallows yonder, who hasn’t 
modesty enough to know when and where he’s wanted.” 

“ Dear mother, don’t speak so loud,” whispered the poor 
girl. 

“Don’t talk so loud, forsooth — and why? They that 
put themselves where they are not wanted and not asked, 
must expect to hear ill of themselves.” 

“There comes my pretty Jeanie,” said her old father, 
as he saw her approach. “ And so you found her at last, 
mother. Come here, dearest, we have been waiting for 
you.” 

The sweet tones of that gentle voice, which however 
harsh at times to others, were ever modulated to the sweet- 
est music when he spoke to her, fell upon the ears of the 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


245 


poor confused and mortified girl, in such comforting 
accents, that the full heart could no longer restrain its 
gushing feelings, and she burst into tears. With swollen 
eyes and with a heavy heart she bade adieu to the several 
guest§, and as Sir William Berkeley, in the mistaken kind- 
ness of his heart, kissed her cheek, and whispered that Ber- 
nard would soon return and all would be happy again, she 
sobbed as if her gentle heart would break. 

“ 1 always tell the Colonel that he ruins the child,” said 
Mrs. Temple to the Governor, with one of her blandest 
smiles, on seeing this renewed exhibition of sensibility. 
“ It was not so in our day, Lady Frances ; we had other 
things to think about than crying and weeping. Tears 
were not so shallow then.” 

Lady Frances Berkeley nodded a stately acquiescence in 
this tribute to the stoicism of the past, and made some 
sage, original and relevant reflection, that shallow streams 
ever were the most noisy — and then kissing the weeping 
girl, repeated the grateful assurance that Bernard would 
not be long absent, and that she herself would be present 
at the happy bridal, to taste the bride’s cake and quaff 
the knitting cup,* with other like consolations well calcu- 
lated to restore tranquillity and happiness to the bosom of 
the disconsolate Yirginia. 

And so the unfortunate Berkeley commenced that fatal 
flight, which contributed so largely to divert the arms of 
the insurgents from the Indians to the government, and to 
change what else might have been a mere unauthorized 
attack upon the common enemies of the country into a pro- 
tracted and bloody civil war. 

Hansford did not long remain at Windsor Hall, after the 
departure of the loyalists. He would indeed have been 
wanting in astuteness if he had not inferred from the direct 


* A cup drunk at the marriage ceremony in honour of the bride. 


246 the devoted bride. 

language of Mrs. Temple that he was an unwelcome visi- 
tant at the mansion. But more important, if not more 
cogent reasons urged his immediate departure. He saw 
at a glance the fatal error committed by Berkeley in his 
flight to Accomac, and the immense advantage it ‘would 
be to the insurgents. He wished, therefore, without loss of 
time to communicate the welcome intelligence to Bacon 
and his followers, who, he knew, were anxiously awaiting 
the result of his mission. 

Ordering his horse, he bade a cordial adieu to the good 
old colonel, who, as he shook his hand, said, with a tear in his 
eye, “ Oh, my boy, my boy 1 if your head were as near right 
as I believe your heart is, how I would love to welcome 
you to my bosom as my son.” 

“I hope, my kind, my noble friend,” said Hansford, 
“ that the day may yet come when you will see that I am 
not wholly wrong. God knows I would almost rather err 
with you than to be right with any other man.” Then 
bidding a kind farewell to Mrs. Temple and Yirginia, to 
which the old lady responded with due civility, but without 
cordiality, he vaulted into the saddle and rode off — and as 
long as the house was still in view, he could see the white 
’kerchief of Yirginia from the open window, waving a last 
fond adieu to her unhappy lover. 





THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


247 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“The abstract and brief chronicle of the time.” 

Hamlet. 

It is not our purpose to trouble the reader with a de- 
tailed account of all the proceedings of the famous Rebel- 
lion, which forms the basis of our story. We, therefore, 
pass rapidly over the stirring incidents which immediately 
succeeded the flight of Sir William Berkeley. Interesting 
as these incidents may be to the antiquary or historian, 
they have but little to do with the dramatis personae of 
this faithful narrative, in whose fate we trust our readers 
are somewhat interested. Accomac is divided from the 
mainland of Virginia by the broad Chesapeake Bay. 
Although contained in the same grant which prescribed 
the limits to the colony, and although now considered a 
part of this ancient commonwealth, there is good reason to 
believe that formerly it was considered in a different light. 
In one of the earliest colonial state papers which has been 
preserved, the petition of Morryson, Ludwell & Smith, for 
a reformed charter for the colony, the petitioners are 
6tyled the “ agents for the governor, council and burgesses 
of the country of Virginia and territory of Accomac ; n and 
although this form of phraseology appears in but few of 
the records, yet it would appear that the omission was the 
result of mere convenience in style-, just as Victoria is 
more frequently styled the Queen of England, than called 
by her more formal title of Queen of the United King- 
doms of Great Britian and Ireland, by the Grace of God, 
Defender of the Faith. It was, therefore, not without 


248 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


reason, that Nathaniel Bacon, glad at least of a pretext for 
advancing his designs, should have considered the flight of 
Sir William Berkeley to Accomac as a virtual abdication 
of his authority, more especially as it had been ordained 
but two years before by the council at Whitehall, that the 
governor should be actually a resident of Virginia, unless 
when summoned by the King to England or elsewhere. At 
least it was a sufficient pretext for the young insurgent, who, 
in the furtherance of his designs did not seem to be over-scru- 
pulous in regard to the powers with which he was clothed. 
But twelve years afterwards a similar pretext afforded by the 
abdication of James the Second, relieved the British govern- 
ment of one of the most serious difficulties which has arisen 
in her constitutional history. 

Without proceeding on his expedition against the Indians, 
Bacon had no sooner heard of the abdication of the governor 
than he retired to the Middle Plantation, the site of the 
present venerable city of Williamsburg. Here, summoning 
a convention of the most prominent citizens from all parts 
of the colony, he declared the government vacated by the 
voluntary abdication of Berkeley, and in his own name, and 
the name of four members of the council, proceeded to issue 
writs for a meeting of the Assembly. It is but just to the 
memory of this great man to say, that this Assembly, con- 
vened by his will, and acting, as may well be conceived, 
almost exclusively under his dictation, has left upon our 
statute books laws “ the most wholesome and good,” for 
the benefit of the colony, and the most conducive to the 
advancement of rational liberty. The rights of property 
remained inviolate — the reforms were moderate and judi- 
cious, and the government of the colony proceeded as 
quietly and calmly after the accomplishment of the revolu- 
tion, as though Sir William Berkeley were still seated in 
his palace as the executive magistrate cf Virginia. A 
useful lesson did this young colonial rebel teach to modem 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 249 

reformers who would defame his name — the lesson that 
reform does not necessarily imply total change, and that 
there is nothing with which it is more dangerous to tamper 
than long established usage. The worst of all quacks are 
those who would administer their sovereign nostrums to 
the constitution of their country. 

The reader of history need not be reminded that the 
expedition of Bland and Carver, designed to surprise Sir 
William Berkeley in his new retreat, was completely frus- 
trated by the treachery of Larimore, and its unfortunate 
projectors met, at the hands of the stern old Governor, a 
traitor’s doom. Thus the drooping hopes of the loyalists 
were again revived, and taking advantage of this happy 
change in the condition of affairs, Berkeley with his little 
band of faithful adherents returned by sea to Jamestown, 
and fortified the place to the best of their ability against 
the attacks of the rebels. 

Nor were the insurgents unwilling to furnish them an 
opportunity for a contest. The battle of Bloody Run is 
memorable in the annals of the colony as having forever 
annihilated the Indian power in Eastern Virginia. Like 
the characters in Bunyan’s sublime vision, this unhappy 
race, so long a thorn in the side of the colonists, had passed 
away, and “they saw their faces no more.” But his very 
triumph over the savage enemies of his country, well nigh 
proved the ruin of the young insurgent. Many of his fol- 
lowers, who had joined him with a bona fide design of 
extirpating the Indian power, now laid down their arms, 
and retired quietly to their several homes. Bacon was 
thus left with only about two hundred adherents, to prose- 
cute the civil war which the harsh and dissembling policy of 
Berkeley had invoked ; while the Governor was surrounded 
by more than three times that number, with the, entire navy 
of Virginia at his command, and, moreover, secure behind 
the fortifications of Jamestown. Yet did not the brave 


250 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


young hero shrink from the contest. Though reduced In num- 
bers, those that remained were in themselves a host. They 
were all men of more expanded views, and more exalted 
conceptions of liberty, than many of the medley crew who 
had before attended him. They fought in a holier cause 
than when arrayed against the despised force of their savage 
foes, and, moreover, they fought in self-defence. For, too 
proud and generous to desert their leader in his hour of 
peril, each of his adherents lay under the proscriptive ban 
of the revengeful Governor, as a rebel and a traitor. No 
sooner, therefore, did Bacon hear of the return of Berkeley 
to Jamestown, than, with hasty marches, he proceeded to 
invest the place. It is here, then, that we resume the thread 
of our broken narrative. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

“ When Liberty rallies 

Once more in thy regions, remember me then.” 

Byron. 

It was on a calm, clear morning in the latter part 
of the month of September, that the little army of Na- 
thaniel Bacon, wearied and worn with protracted marches, 
and with hard fought battles, might be seen winding through 
the woodland district to the north of Jamestown. The 
two cavaliers, who led the way a little distance ahead of the 
main body of the insurgents, were Bacon and his favourite 
comrade, Hansford — engaged, as before, in an animated, 
but now a more earnest conversation. The brow of the 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 251 

young hero was more overcast with care and reflection than 
when we last saw him. The game, which he had fondly 
hoped was over, had yet to be played, and the stake that 
remained was far more serious than any which had yet 
been risked. During the brief interval that his undisputed 
power existed, the colony had flourished and improved, and 
the bright dream which he had of her approaching delivery 
from bondage, seemed about to be realized. And now it 
was sad and disheartening to think that the battle must 
again be fought, and with .such odds against him, that the 
chances of success were far more remote than ever. But 
Bacon was not the man to reveal his feelings, and he 
imparted to others the cheerfulness which he failed to feel 
himself. From time to time he would ride along the bro- 
ken ranks, revive their drooping spirits, inspire them with 
new courage, and impart fresh ardor into their breasts for 
the glorious cause in which they were engaged. Then 
rejoining Hansford, he would express to him the fears and 
apprehensions which he. had so studiously concealed from 
the rest. 

It was on one of these occasions, after deploring the 
infatuated devotion of so many of the colonists to the 
cause of blind loyalty, and the desertion of so many on 
whom he had relied to co-operate in his enterprize, that he 
said, bitterly : 

“ I fear sometimes, my friend, that we have been too pre- 
mature in our struggle for liberty. Virginia is not yet ready 
to be free. Her people still hug the chains which enslave 
them.” 

“Alas!” said Hansford, “it is too true that we cannot 
endue the infant in swaddling bands with the pride and 
strength of a giant. The child who learns to walk must 
meet with many a fall, and the nation that aspires to free- 
dom will often be checked by disaster and threatened with 
ruin.” 


252 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“And this it is,” said Bacon, sorrowfully, “that makes 
me sick at heart. Each struggle to be free sinks the chain 
of the captive deeper into his flesh. And should we fail 
now, my friend, we but tighten the fetters that bind us.” 

“ Think not thus gloomily on the subject,” replied Hans- 
ford. “ Believe me, that you have already done much to 
develope the germ of freedom in Virginia. It may be that 
it may not expand and grow in our brief lives ; and even 
though our memory may pass away, and the nation we have 
served may fail to call us blessed, yet they will rejoice in 
the fruition of that freedom for which we may perish. 
Should the soldier repine because he is allotted to lead a 
forlorn hope ? No ! there is a pride and a glory to know, 
that his death is the bridge over which others will pass to 
victory.” 

“ God bless your noble soul, Hansford,” said Bacon, with 
the intensest admiration. “ It is men like you and not like 
me who are worthy to live in future generations. Men 
who, regardless of the risk or sacrifice of self, press onward 
in the discharge of duty. Love of glory may elevate the 
soul in the hour of triumph, but love of duty, and firmness 
resolutely to discharge it, can alone sustain us in the hour 
of peril and trial.” 

This was at last the difference between the two men. 
Intense desire for personal fame, united with a subordinate 
love of country impelled Bacon in his course. Inflexible 
resolution to discharge a sacred duty, an entire abnegation 
of self in its performance, and the strongest convictions of 
right constituted the incentives to Hansford. It was this 
that in the hour of their need sustained the heart of Hans- - 
ford, while the more selfish but noble heart of his leader 
almost sank within him ; and yet the effects upon the actions 
of the two were much the same. The former, unswayed by 
circumstances however adverse, pressed steadily and firmly 
on ; while the latter, with the calmness of desperation, know- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 253 

ing that safety, and (what was dearer) glory, lay in the 
path of success, braced himself for the struggle with more 
than his usual resolution. 

“ But, alas !” continued Bacon, in the same melancholy 
tone, “if we should fail, how hard to be forgotten. Your 
name and memory to perish among men forever — your very 
grave to be neglected and uncared for; and this living, 
breathing frame, instinct with life, and love, and glory, to i 
pass away and mingle with the dust of the veriest worm 
which crawls upon the earth. Oh, God ! to be forgotten, 
to leave no impress on the world but what the next flowing 
tide may efface forever. Think of it, realize it, Hansford 
• — to be forgotten !•” 

“ It would, indeed, be a melancholy thought,” said Hans- 
ford, with a deep sympathy for his friend — “ if this were 
all. But when we remember that we stand but on the 
threshold of existence, and have a higher, a holier destiny to 
attain beyond, we need care but little for what is passing 
here. I have sometimes thought, my friend, that as in man- 
hood we sometimes smile at the absurd frivolities which 
caught our childish fancy, so when elevated to a higher 
sphere we would sit and wonder at the interest which we 
took in the trifling pleasures, the empty honours, and the 
glittering toys of this present life.” 

“ And do you mean to say that honour and glory are 
nothing here ?” 

“ Only so far as they reflect the honour and glory which 
are beyond.” 

“Pshaw, man!” cried Bacon, “you do not, you cannot 
think so. You ask me the reason of this desire for fame 
and remembrance when we are dust. I tell you it is an 
instinct implanted in us by the Almighty to impel us to 
glorious deeds.” 

“ Aye,” said Hansford, quietly, “ and when that desire, 
by our own indulgence, becomes excessive, just as the baser 


254 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

appetites of the glutton or the debauchee, it becomes cor- 
rupt and tends to our destruction.” 

“You are a curious fellow, Hansford,” said Bacon, 
laughing, “and should have been one of old Noll’s generals 
. — for I believe you can preach as well as you can fight, and 
believe me that is no slight commendation. But you must 
excuse me if I cannot agree with you in all of your senti- 
ments. I am sorry to say that old Butler’s ‘ pulpit drum 
ecclesiastic’ seldom beat me to a church parade while I was 
in England, and here in Virginia they send us the worst 
preachers, as they send us the worst of every thing. But 
a truce to the subject. Tell me are you a believer in pre- 
sentiments ?” 

“ Surely such things are possible, but I believe them to 
be rare,” replied his companion. “ Future events certainly 
make an impression upon the animal creation, and I know 
not why man should be exempt entirely from a similar law. 
The migratory birds will seek a more southern clime, even 
before a change of weather is indicated by the wind, and the 
appearance of the albatross, or the bubbling of the porpoise, 
if we may believe the sailors’ account, portend a storm.” 

“ These phenomena,” suggested Bacon, “may easily be 
explained by some atmospheric influence, insensible to our 
nature, but easily felt by them.” 

“I might answer,” replied Hansford, “that if insensible 
to us, we are not warranted in presuming their existence. 
But who can tell in the subtle mechanism of the mind how 
sensitive it may be to the impressions of coming yet unseen 
events. At least, all nations have believed in the existence 
of such an influence, and the Deity himself has deigned to 
use it through his prophets, in the revelation of his pur- 
poses to man.” 

“Well, true or not,” said Bacon, in a low voice, “ I have 
felt the effect of such a presentiment in my own mind, and 
although I have tried to resist its influence I have been 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 255 

unable to do so. There is something which whispers to me, 
Hansford, that I will not see the consummation of my hopes 
in this colony — and that dying I shall leave behind me an 
inglorious name. For what at last is an unsuccessful 
patriot but a rebel. And oh, as I have listened to the 
monitions of this demon, it seemed as though the veil of 
futurity were raised, and I could read my fate in after years. 
Some future chronicler will record this era of Yirginia’s 
history, and this struggle for freedom on the part of her 
patriot children will be styled rebellion ; our actions mis- 
represented ; our designs misinterpreted ; and 1 the leader 
and in part the author of the movement will be handed 
down with Wat Tyler and Jack Cade to infamy, obloquy 
and reproach.” 

“ Think not thus gloomily,” said Hansford, “the feelings 
you describe are often suggested to an excited imagination 
by the circumstances with which it is surrounded ; just as 
dreams are the run mad chroniclers of our daily thoughts 
and hopes and apprehensions. You should not yield to 
them, General, they unman you or at least unfit you for the 
duties which lie before you.” 

" You are right,” returned Bacon ; “ and I banish them 
from me forever. I have half a mind to acknowledge my- 
self your convert, Hansford ; eschew the gaily bedizzened 
Glory, and engage your demure little Quaker, Duty, as my 
handmaiden in her place.” 

“ I will feel but too proud of such a convert to my creed,” 
said Hansford laughing. “ And now what of your plans 
on Jamestown ?” 

“ Why to tell you the truth,” said Bacon gravely ; “ I 
am somewhat at fault in regard to my actions there. I 
could take the town in a day, and repulse those raw recruits 
of the old Governor with ease, if they would only sally out. 
But I suspect the old tyrant will play a safe game with me — 
and securely ensconced behind his walls, will cut my brave 


256 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


boys to pieces with his cannon before I can make a suc- 
cessful breach. ” 

“ You could throw up breastworks for your protection,” 
suggested Hansford. 

“ Aye, but I fear it would be building a stable after the 
horse was stolen. With our small force we could not 
resist their guns while we were constructing our fortifica- 
tions. But I will try it by night, and we may succeed. 

The d d old traitor — if he would only meet me in open 

field, I could make my way ‘through twenty times his 
stop.’” 

“ Well, we must encounter some risk,” replied Hansford. 
“ I have great hopes from the character of his recruits, too. 
Though they number much more than ourselves, yet they 
serve without love, and in the present exhausted exchequer 
of the colony, are fed more by promises than money.” 

“ They are certainly not likely to be fed by angels ,” said 
Bacon, “ as some of the old prophets are said to have 
been. But, Hansford, an idea has just struck me, which is 
quite a new manoeuvre in warfare, and from which your 
ideas of chivalry will revolt.” 

“ What is it ?” asked Hansford eagerly. 

“ Why if it succeeds,” returned Bacon, “ I will warrant 
that Jamestown is in our hands in twenty-four hours, with- 
out the loss of more blood than would fill a quart canteen.” 

“ Bravo, then, General, if you add such an important 
principle to the stock of military tactics, I’ll warrant that 
whispering demon lied, and that you will retain both Glory 
and Duty in your service.” 

“ I am afraid you will change your note, Thomas, when 
I develope my plan. It is simply this — to detail a party 
of men to scour the country around Jamestown, and collect 
the good dames and daughters of our loyal councillors. 
If we take them with us, I’ll promise to provide a secure 
defence against the enemies’ fire. The beseiged will dare 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. . 257 

not fire a gun so long as there is danger of striking their 
wives and children, and we, in the meantime, secure behind 
this temporary breastwork, will prepare a less objectionable 
defence. What think you of the plan, Hansford ?” 

11 Good God 1” cried Hansford, “ You are not in earnest 
General Bacon ?” 

“ And why not V ’ said Bacon, in reply. “ If such a 
course be not adopted, at least half of the brave fellows 
behind us will be slaughtered like sheep. While no harm 
can result to the ladies themselves, beyond the inconvenience 
of a few hours’ exposure to the night air, which they should 
willingly endure to preserve life.” 

Hansford was silent. He knew how useless it was to 
oppose Bacon when he had once resolved. His chivalrous 
nature revolted at the idea of exposing refined and delicate 
females to such a trial. And yet he could not deny that 
the project if successfully carried out would be the means 
of saving much bloodshed, and of ensuring a speedy and 
easy victory to the insurgents. 

“ Why, what are you thinking of, man, ’’said Bacon gaily. 
“ I thought my project would wound your delicate sensi- 
bilities. But to my mind there is more real chivalry and more 
true humanity in sparing brave blood to brave hearts, than 
in sacrificing it to a sickly regard for a woman’s feelings.” 

“ The time has been when brave blood would have leaped 
gushing from brave hearts,” said Hansford proudly, “to 
protect woman from the slightest shadow of insult.” 

“ Most true, my brave Chevalier Bayard,” said Bacon, in 
a tone of unaffected good humor, “ and shall again — and 
mine, believe me, will not be more sluggish in such a cause 
than your own. But here no insult is intended and none 
will be given. These fair prisoners shall be treated with 
the respect due to their sex and station. My hand and 
sword for that. But the time has been when woman too 
was willing to sacrifice her shrinking delicacy in defence of 
16 


258 the devoted bride. 

her country. Wot ye how Rome was once saved by the 
noble intercession of the wife and mother of Caius Marcus 
— or how the English forces were beaten from the walls of 
Orleans by the heroic J oan, or how — ” 

“You need not multiply examples,” said Hansford inter- 
rupting him, “ to show how women of a noble nature have 
unsexed themselves to save their country. Your illustra- 
tions do not apply, for they did voluntarily what the ladies 
of Virginia must do upon compulsion. But, sir, I have no 
more to say. If you persist in this resolution, unchivalrous 
as I believe it to be, yet I will try to see my duty in ame- 
liorating the condition of these unhappy females as far 
as possible.” 

“ And in me you shall have a most cordial coad- 
jutor,” returned Bacon. “ But, my dear fellow, your chivalry 
is too shallow. Excuse me, if I say that it is all mere sen- 
timent without a substratum of reason. How look you — 
you would willingly kill in battle the husbands of these 
ladies, and thus inflict a life-long wound upon them, and 
yet you refuse to pursue a course by which lives may be 
saved, because it subjects them to a mere temporary incon- 
venience. But look again. Have you no sympathy left 
for the wives, no chivalry for the daughters of our own 
brave followers, whose hearts will be saved full many a 
pang by a stratagem, which will ensure the safety of their 
protectors. Believe me, my dear Hansford, if chivalry be 
nought but a mawkish sentiment, which would throw away 
the real substance of good, to retain the mere shadow re- 
flected in its mirror, like the poor dog in the fable — the 
sooner its reign is over the better for humanity.” 

“But, General Bacon,” said Hansford, by no means 
convinced by the sophistry of his plausible leader, “ if the 
future chronicler of whom you spoke, should indeed write 
the history of this enterprise, he will record no fact which 
will reflect less honour upon your name, than that you 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 259 

found a means for your defence in the persons of defenceless 
women.” 

“ So let it be, my gallant chevalier,” replied Bacon, gaily, 
determined not to be put out of humour by Hansford’s 
grave remonstrance. “But you, have taught me not to 
look into future records for my name, or for the vindication 
of my course — and your demure damsel Duty has whispered 
that I am in the path of right. Look ye, Hansford, don’t 
be angry with your friend ; for I assure you on the honour 
of a gentleman, that the dames themselves will bear testi 
mony to the chivalry of Nathaniel Bacon. And besides, 
my dear fellow, we will not impress any but the sterner old 
dames into our service. You know the older they are the 
better they will serve for material for an impregnable 
fortress.” 

So saying, Bacon ordered a halt, and communicating to 
his soldiers his singular design, he detailed Captain Wil- 
ford and a party of a dozen men, selected on account of 
their high character, to capture and bring into his camp 
the wives of certain of the royalists, who, though residing in 
the country, had rallied to the support of Sir William 
Berkeley, on his return to Jamestown. In addition to 
these who were thus found in their several homes, the de- 
tailed corps had intercepted the carriage of our old friend, 
Colonel Temple ; for the old loyalist had no sooner heard 
of the return of Sir William Berkeley, than he hastened to 
join him at the metropolis, leaving his wife and daughter 
to follow him on the succeeding day. What was the con- 
sternation and mortification of Thomas Hansford as he saw 
the fair Yirginia Temple conducted, weeping, into the rude 
camp of the insurgents, followed by her high-tempered old 
mother, who to use the chaste and classic simile of Tony 
Lumpkin, “ fidgeted and spit about like a Catherine wheel.” 


260 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

u It is the cry of women, good, my lord.” 

Macbeth. 

Agreeably with the promise of Bacon, the captured 
ladies were treated with a respect and deference which 
allayed in a great degree their many apprehensions. Still 
they could not refrain from expressions of the strongest 
indignation at an act so unusual, so violent, and so entirely 
at war with the established notions of chivalry at the time. 
As the reader will readily conjecture, our good friend, Mrs. 
Temple, was by no means the most patient under the 
wrongs she had endured, and resisting the kind attentions 
of those around her, she was vehement in her denunciations 
of her captors, and in her apprehensions of a thousand 
imaginary dangers. 

“ Oh my God !” she cried, “ I know that they intend to 
murder us. To think of leaving a quiet home, and being ex- 
posed to such treatment as this. Oh, my precious husband, 
if he only knew what a situation his poor Betsey was in at 
this moment; but never mind, as sure as I am a living 
woman, he shall know it, and then we will see.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Temple,” said Mrs. Ballard, another of 
the. captives, “do not give way to your feelings thus. It is 
useless, and will only serve to irritate these men.” 

“ Men I they are not men !” returned the excited old 
lady, refusing to be comforted. “ Men never would have 
treated ladies so. They are base, cruel, inhuman wretches, 
and, as I said before, if I live, to get to Jamestown, Colonel 
Temple shall know of it too — so he shall.” 

“ But reflect, my dear friend, that our present condition 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


261 


is not affected by this very natural resolution which you 
have made, to inform your husband of your wrongs. But 
whatever may be the object of these persons, I feel assured 
that they intend no personal injury to us.” 

“No personal injury, forsooth ; and have we not sus- 
tained it already. Look at my head-tire, all done up nicely 
just before I left the hall, and now scarcely fit to be seen. 
And is it nothing to be hauled all over the country with a 
party of ruffians, that I would be ashamed to be caught in 
company with ; and who knows what they intend ?” 

“ I admit with you, my dear madam,” said Mrs. Ballard, 
“ that such conduct is unmanly and inexcusable, and I care 
not who hears me say so. But still,” she added in a low 
voice, “ we have the authority of scripture to make friends 
even of the mammon of unrighteousness.” 

“ Friends ! I would die first. I who have been moving 
in the first circles, the wife of Colonel Temple, who, if he 
had chosen, might have been the greatest in the land, to 
make friends with a party of mean, sneaking, cowardly ruf- 
fians. Never — and I’ll speak my mind freely too — they 
shall see that I have a woman’s tongue in my head and 
know how to resent these injuries. Oh, for shame ! and to 
wear swords too, which used to be the badge of gentlemen 
and cavaliers, who would rather have died than wrong a 
poor, weak, defenceless woman — much less to rob and mur- 
der her.” 

“ Well, let us hope for the best, my friend,” said Mrs. 
Ballard ; “ God knows I feel as you do, that we have been 
grossly wronged ; but let us remember that we are in the 
hands of a just and merciful Providence, who will do with 
us according to his holy will.” 

“ I only know that we are in the hands of a parcel of 
impious and merciless wretches,” cried the old lady, who, 
as we have seen on a former occasion, derived but little 
comfort from the consolations of religion in the hour of 


262 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


trial. 11 1 hope I have as much religion as ttiy fellows, who 
pretend to so much more — but I should like to know what 
effect that would have on a band of lawless cut-throats ?” 

“ He has given us his holy promise,” said Virginia, in a 
solemn, yet hopeful voice of resignation, “that though we 
walk through the valley and the shadow of death, he will 
be with us — his rod and his staff will comfort us — yea, he 
prepareth a table for us in the presence of our enemies, our 
cup runneth over.” 

“ Well, I reckon I know that as well as you, miss ; but 
it seems there is but little chance of having a table pre- 
pared for us here,” retorted her mother, whose fears and 
indignation had whetted rather than allayed her appetite. 
But I think it is very unseemly in a young girl to be so 
calm under such circumstances. I know that when I was 
your age, the bare idea of submitting to such an exposure 
as this would have shocked me out of my senses.” 

Virginia could not help thinking, that considering the 
lapse of time since her mother was a young girl, there had 
been marvellously little change wrought in her keen sensi- 
bility to exposure ; for she was already evidently “ shocked 
out of her senses.” But she refrained from expressing 
such a dangerous opinion, and replied, in a sad tone — 

“ And can you think, my dearest mother, that I do not 
feel in all its force our present awful condition ! But, alas I 
what can we do. As Mrs. Ballard truly says, our best 
course is to endeavour to move the coarse sympathies of 
these rebels, and even if they should not relent, they will at 
least render our condition less fearful by their forbearance 
and respect. Oh, my mother 1 my only friend in this dark 
hour of peril and misfortune, think not so harshly of your 
daughter as to suppose that she feels less acutely the hor- 
rors of her situation, because she fails to express her fears.” 
And so saying, the poor girl drew yet closer to her mother, 
and wept upon her bosom. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


263 


“ I meant not to speak unkindly, dear Jeanie,” said the 
good-hearted old lady, “ but you know, my child, that when 
my fears get the better of me, I am not myself. It does 
seem to me, that I was born under some unlucky star. 
Ever since I was born the world has been turning upside 
down ; and God knows, I don’t know what I have done 
that it should be so. But first, that awful revolution in 
England, and then, when we came here to pass our old 
days in peace and quiet, this infamous rebellion. And yet 
I must say, I never knew any thing like this. There was 
at least some show of religion among the old Roundheads, 
and though they were prim and demure enough, and hated 
all kinds of amusement, and cruel enough too with all their 
psalm singing, to cut off their poor king’s head, yet they 
always treated women with respect and decency. But, 
indeed, even the rebels of the present day are not what 
they used to be.” 

Virginia could scarcely forbear smiling, amid her tears, 
at this new application of her mother’s favourite theory. 
The conversation was here interrupted by the approach of 
a young officer, who, bowing respectfully to the bevy of 
captive ladies, said politely, that he was sorry to intrude 
upon their presence, but that, as it was time to pursue their 
journey, he had come to ask if the ladies would partake 
of some refreshment before their ride. 

“ If they could share the rough fare of a soldier, it 
would bestow a great favour and honour upon him to 
attend to their wishes ; and indeed, as it would be several 
hours before they could reach Jamestown, they would stand 
in need of some refreshment, ere they arrived at more 
comfortable quarters.” 

“ As your unhappy prisoners, sir,” said Mrs. Ballard, 
with great dignity, “ we can scarcely object to a soldier’s 
fare. Prisoners have no choice but to take the food which 
the humanity of their jailers sets before them. Your 


A 


264 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


apology is therefore needless, if not insulting to our mis- 
fortunes.” 

“Well, madam,” returned Wilford, in the same respect- 
ful tone, “ I did not mean to offend you, and regret that I 
have done so through mistaken kindness. May I add that, 
in common with the rest of the army, I deplore the neces- 
sity which has compelled us to resort to such harsh means 
towards yourselves, in order to ensure success and safety.” 

“ I deeply sympathize with you in your profound regret,” 
said Mrs. Ballard, ironically. “ But pray tell me, sir, 
if you learned this very novel and chivalric mode of warfare 
from the savages with whom you have been contending, or 
is it the result of General Bacon’s remarkable military 
genius ?” 

“ It is the result of the stern necessity under which we 
rest, of coping with a force far superior to our own. And 
I trust that while your ladyships can suffer but little incon- 
venience from £ur course, you will not regret your own 
cares, if thereby you might prevent an effusion of blood. ” 

“ Oh, that is it,” replied Mrs. Ballard, in the same tone 
of withering irony. “ I confess that I was dull enough to 
believe that the self-constituted, self-styled champions of 
freedom had courage enough to battle for the right, and not 
to screen themselves from danger, as a child will seek pro- 
tection behind its mother’s apron, from the attack of an 
enraged cow.” 

11 Madam, I will not engage in an encounter of wits with 
you. I will do you but justice when I say that few would 
come off victors in such a contest. But I have a message 
from one of our officers to this young lady, I believe, which 
I was instructed to reserve for her private ear.” 

“ There is no need for a confidential communication,” 
said Virginia Temple, “ as I have no secret which I desire 
to conceal from my mother and these companions in misfor- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 265 

tune. If, therefore, you have aught to say to me, you may 
say it here, or else leave it unexpressed.” 

“ As you please, my fair young lady,” returned Wilford. 
u My message concerns you alone, but if you do not care 
to conceal it from your companions, I will deliver it in their 
presence. Major Thomas Hansford desires me to say, that 
if you would allow him the honour of an interview of a few 
moments, he would gladly take the opportunity of explain- 
ing to you the painful circumstances by which you are sur- 
rounded, in a manner which he trusts may meet with your 
approbation.” 

“ Say to Major Thomas Hansford,” replied Virginia, 
proudly, “that, as I am his captive, I cannot prevent his 
intrusion into my presence. I cannot refuse to hear what 
he may have to speak. But tell him, moreover, that no 
explanation can justify this last base act, and that no repa- 
ration can erase it from my memory. Tell him that she 
who once honoured him, and loved him, as all that was 
noble, and generous, and chivalric, now looks back upon 
the past as on a troubled dream ; and that, in future, if she 
should hear his name, she will remember him but as one 
who, cast in a noble mould, might have been worthy of the 
highest admiration, but, defaced by an indelible stain, is 
cast aside as worthy alike of her indignation and con- 
tempt.” 

As the young girl uttered the last fatal words, she sank 
back into her grassy seat by her mother’s side, as though 
exhausted by the effort she had made. She had torn with 
violent resolution from her breast the image which had so 
long been enshrined there — not only as a picture to be 
loved, but as an idol to be worshipped — and though duty 
had nerved and sustained her in the effort, nothing could 
assuage the anguish it inflicted. She did not love him 
then, but she had loved him ; and her heart, like the gloomy 
chamber where death has been, seemed more desolate for 


, 266 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

the absence of that which, though hideous to gaze upon, 
was now gone forever. 

Young Wilford was deeply impressed with the scene, and 
could not altogether conceal the emotion which it excited. 
In a hurried and agitated voice he promised to deliver her 
message to Hansford, and bowing again politely to the 
ladies, he slowly withdrew. 

In a few moments one of the soldiers came with the 
expected refreshment, which certainly justified the descrip- 
tion which Wilford had given. It was both coarse and 
plain. Jerked venison, which had evidently been the pro- 
perty of a stag with a dozen branches to his horns, and 
some dry and moulding biscuit, completed the homely 
repast. Virginia, and most of her companions, declined 
partaking of the unsavoury viands, but Mrs. Temple, 
though bitterly lamenting her hard fate, in dooming her to 
such hard fare, worked vigorously away at the tough veni- 
son with her two remaining molars — asserting the while, 
very positively, that no such venison as that existed in her 
young days, though, to confess the truth, if we may judge 
from the evident age of the deceased animal, it certainly 
did. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


267 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

“ Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, 

I know that thou wilt love me j though my name 
Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
With desolation, — and a broken claim ; 

Though the grave closed between us, ’twere the same.” 

Childe Harold . 

The daylight had entirely disappeared, and the broad 
disc of the full September moon was just appearing above 
the eastern horizon, when Bacon and his followers resumed 
their march. Each of the captive ladies was placed upon 
a horse, behind one of the officers, whose heavy riding cloak 
was firmly girt to the horse’s back, to provide a more com- 
fortable seat. Thus advancing, at a constant, but slow 
pace, to accommodate the wearied soldiers, they pursued 
their onward course toward Jamestown. It was Bacon’s 
object to arrive before the town as early as possible in the 
night, so as to secure the completion of their intrenchments 
and breastworks before the morning, when he intended to 
commence the siege. And now, as they are lighted on 
their way by the soft rays of the autumnal moon, let us hear 
the conversation which was passing between one of the 
cavaliers and his fair companion, as they rode slowly along 
at some distance from the rest. 

We may well suppose that Thomas Hansford, forced thus 
reluctantly to engage in a policy from which his very soul 
revolted, would not commit the charge of Virginia’s person 
to another. She, at least, should learn, that though so 
brutally impressed into the service of the rebel army, there 
was an arm there to shield her from danger and protect her 


268 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE 


from rudeness or abuse. She, at least, should learn that 
there was one heart there, however despised and spurned 
by others, which beat in its every throb for her safety and 
happiness. 

, Hiding, as we have said, a little slower than the rest, so 
as to be a little out of hearing, he said, in a low voice, 
tremulous with half suppressed emotion, “Miss Temple 
cannot be ignorant of who her companion is ?” 

“Your voice assures me,” replied Virginia, “ that my 
conjecture is right, and that I am in the presence of one 
who was once an honoured friend. But had your voice 
and form changed as entirely as your heart, I could never 
have recognized in the rebel who scruples not to insult a 
defenceless woman, the once gallant and chivalrous Hans- 
ford.” 

“ And do you, can you believe that my heart has indeed 
so thoroughly changed ?” 

“ I would fain believe so, else I am forced to the conclu- 
sion that I have, all my life, been deceived in a character 
which I deemed worthy of my love, while it was only the 
more black because it was hypocritical.” 

“ Virginia,” said Hansford, with desperation, “you shall 
not talk thus ; you shall not think thus of me.” 

“As my captor and jailer,” returned the brave hearted 
young maiden, “ Mr. Hansford may, probably, by force, 
control the expression of my opinions — but thank God ! 
not even you can control my thoughts. The mind, at least, 
is free, though the body be enslaved.” 

“ Nay, do not mistake my meaning, dear Virginia,” said 
her lover. “ But alas 1 I am the victim of misconstruction. 
Could you, for a moment, believe that I was capable of an 
act which you have justly described as unmanly and 
unchivalrous ?” 

“ What other opinion can I have ?” said Virginia. “ I 
find you acting with those who are guilty of an act as 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


269 ' 


cowardly as it is cruel. I find you tacitly acquiescing in 
their measures, and aiding in guarding and conducting 
their unhappy captives — and I received from you a mes- 
sage in which you pretend to say that you can justify that 
which is at once inexcusable before heaven, and in the court 
of man’s honour. Forgive me, if I am unable to separate 
the innocent from the guilty, and if I fail to see that your 
conduct is more noble in this attempt to shift the conse- 
quences of your crime upon your confederates.” 

“Now, by Heaven, you wrong me 1” returned Hansford. 
“ My message to you was mistaken by Captain Wilford. 
I never said I could justify your capture ; I charged him 
to tell you I could justify myself. And as for my being 
found with those who have committed this unmanly act, as 
well might you be deemed a participator in their actions 
now, because of your presence here. I remonstrated, 1 
protested against such a course — and when at last adopted 
I denounced it as unworthy of men, and far more unworthy 
of soldiers and freemen.” 

“ And yet, when overwhelmed by the voices of others, 
you quietly acquiesce, and remain in companionship with 
those whose conduct you had denounced.” 

“ What else could I do ?” urged Hansford. “ My feeble 
arm could not resist the action of two hundred men ; and 
it only remained forme to continue here, that I might secure 
the safety and kind treatment of those who were the vic- 
tims of this rude violence. Alas 1 how little did I think 
that so soon you would be one of those unhappy victims, 
and that my heart would deplore, for its own sake, a course 
from which my judgment and better nature already re- 
volted.” 

The scales fell from Virginia’s eyes. She now saw clearly 
the bitter trial through which her lover had been called to 
pass, and recognized once more the generous, self-denying 
nature of Hansford. The stain upon his pure fame, to use 


270 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


her own figure, was but the effect of the false and deceptive 
lens through which she had looked, and now that she saw 
clearly, it was restored to its original purity and beauty. 

“ And is this true, indeed ?” she said, in a happy voice. 
“ Believe me, Hansford, the relief which I feel at this mo- 
ment more than compensates for all that I have endured. 
The renewed assurance of your honour atones for all. Can 
you forgive me for harbouring for a moment a suspicion 
that you were aught but the soul of honour ?” 

“ Forgive you, dearest ?” returned Hansford. “ Most 
freely — most fully ! But scarcely can I forgive those who 
have so wronged you. Cast in a common lot with them, 
and struggling for a common cause, I cannot now withdraw 
from their association ; and indeed, Virginia, I will be 
candid, and tell you freely that I would not if I could.” 

“ Alas 1” said Virginia, “ and what can be the result of 
your efforts. Sooner or later aid must come from England, 
and crush a rebellion whose success has only been epheme- 
ral. And what else can be expected or desired, since we 
have already seen how lost to honour are those by whom it 
is attempted. Would you wish, if you could, to subject 
your country to the sway of men, who, impelled only by 
their own reckless passions, disregard alike the honour due 
from man and the respect due to woman ?” 

“You mistake the character of these brave men, Vir- 
ginia. I believe sincerely that General Bacon was prompted 
to this policy by a real desire to prevent the unnecessary 
loss of life ; and though this humanity cannot entirely 
screen his conduct from reprehension, yet it may cast a veil 
over it. Bold and reckless though he be, his powerful mind 
is swayed by many noble feelings ; and although he may 
commit errors, they nearly lose their grossness in his 
ardent love of freedom, and his exalted contempt of 
danger.” 

“ His love of freedom, I presume, is illustrated by bis 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


271 


forcible capture of unprotected females,” returned Vir- 
ginia ; “ and his contempt of danger, by his desire to 
interpose his captives between himself and the guns of his 
enemies.” 

“ I have told you,” said Hansford, “ that this conduct is 
incapable of being justified, and in this I grant that Bacon 
has grievously erred.” 

“ Then why continue to unite your fortunes to a man 
whose errors are so gross and disgraceful, and whose cul- 
pable actions endanger your own reputation with your best 
friends ?” 

“ Because,” said Hansford, proudly, “ we are engaged in 
a cause, in the full accomplishment of which the faults and 
errors of its champion will be forgotten, and ransomed 
humanity will learn to bless his name, scarcely less bright 
for the imperfections on its disc.” 

“ Your reasoning reminds me,” said Virginia, “ of the 
heretical sect of Cainites, of whom my father once told me, 
who exalted even J udas to a hero, because by his treason 
redemption was effected for the world.” 

“ Well, my dear girl,” replied Hansford, “you maintain 
your position most successfully. But since you quote from 
the history of the Church, I will illustrate my position 
after the manner of a sage old oracle of the law. Sir 
Edward Coke once alluded to the fable, that there was not 
a bird that flitted through the air, but contributed by its do- 
nations to complete the eagle’s nest. And so liberty, whose 
fittest emblem is the eagle, has its home provided and fur- 
nished by many who are unworthy to enjoy the home which 
they have aided in preparing. Admit even, if you please, 
that General Bacon is one of these unclean birds, we can- 
not refuse the contribution which he brings in aid of the 
glorious cause which we maiptain.” 

“ Aye, but he is like, with his vaulting ambition, to be 
the eagle himself,” returned Virginia; “and to say truth, 


272 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


although I have great confidence in your protection, I feel 
like a lone dove in his talons, and would wish for a safer 
home than in his eyrie.” 

“You need fear no danger, be assured, dearest Virginia, ” 
said Hansford, “ either for yourself or your mother. It is 
a part of his plan to send one of the ladies under our 
charge into the city, to apprise the garrison of our strange 
manoeuvre; and I have already his word, that your mother 
and yourself will be the bearers of this message. In a few 
moments, therefore, your dangers will be past, and you will 
once more be in the arms of your noble old father.” 

“ Oh thanks, thanks, my generous protector,” cried the 
girl, transported at this new prospect of her freedom. “ I 
can never forget your kindness, nor cease to regret that I 
could ever have had a doubt of your honour and integrity.” 

“ Oh forget that,” returned Hansford, “ or remember it 
only that you may acknowledge that it is often better to 
bear with the circumstances which we cannot control, than 
by hasty opposition to lose the little influence we may pos- 
sess with those in power. But see the moonlight reflected 
from the steeple of yonder church. We are within sight of 
Jamestown, and you will be soon at liberty. And oh ! Vir- 
ginia,” he said sorrowfully, “if it should be decreed in the 
book of fate, that when we part to-night we part forever, 
and if the name of Hansford be defamed and vilified, you 
at least, I know, will rescue his honour from reproach — 
and one tear from my faithful Virginia, shed upon a pa- 
triot’s grave, will atone for all the infamy which indignant 
vengeance may heap upon my name.” 

So saying, he spurred his horse rapidly onward, until he 
overtook Bacon, who, with the precious burden under his 
care, as usual, led the way. And a precious burden it 
might well be called, for by the light of the moon the 
reader could have no difficulty in recognizing in the com- 
panion of the young general of the insurgents, our old 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


273 


acquaintance, Mrs. Temple. In the earlier part of their 
journey she had by no means contributed to the special 
comfort of her escort' — now, complaining bitterly of the 
roughness of the road, she would grasp him around the 
waist with both arms, until he was in imminent peril of 
falling from his horse, and then when pacified by a 
smoother path and an easier gait, she would burst forth 
in a torrent of invective against the cowardly rebels who 
would misuse a poor old woman so. Bacon, however, 
while alike regardless of her complaints of the road, the 
horse, or himself, did all in his power to mollify the old 
lady, by humouring her prejudices as well as he could ; and 
when he at last informed her of the plan by which she and 
her daughter would so soon regain their liberty, her temper 
relaxed, and she became highly communicative. She was, 
indeed, deep in a description of some early scenes of her 
life, and was telling how she had once seen the bonnie 
young Charley with her own eyes, when he was hiding 
from the pursuit of the Roundheads, and how he com- 
mended her loyalty, and above all her looks ; and promised 
when he came to his own to bestow a peerage on her hus- 
band for his faithful adherence to the cause of his king. 
The narrative had already lasted an hour or more when 
Hansford and Virginia rode up and arrested the conversa- 
tion, much to the relief of Bacon, who was gravely debating 
in his own mind whether it was more agreeable, to hear the 
good dame’s long-winded stories about past loyalty, or to 
submit to her vehement imprecations on present rebellion. 

The young general saluted Virginia courteously as she 
approached, expressing the hope that she had not suffered 
from her exposure to the night air, and then turned to 
Hansford, and engaged in conversation with him on mat- 
ters of interest connected with the approaching contest. 

But as his remarks will be more fully understood, and 
his views developed in the next chapter, we forbear to re- 


274 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


cord them here. Suffice it to say, that among other things 
it was determined, that immediately upon their arrival before 
Jamestown, Mrs. Temple and Virginia, under the escort of 
Hansford, should be conducted to the gate of the town, and 
convey to the Governor And his adherents the intelligence 
of the capture of the wives of the loyalists. We will only 
so far anticipate the regular course of our narrative as to 
say, that this duty was performed without being attended 
with any incident worthy of special remark ; and that Hans- 
ford, bidding a sad farewell to Virginia and her mother, 
committed them to the care of the sentinel at the gate, and 
returned slowly and sorrowfully to the insurgent camp. 


CHAPTER XXXVL 


" How yet resolves the Governor of the town ? 

This is the latest parle we will admit. 

If I begin the battery once again, 

I will not leave the half achieved Harfleur, 

Till in her ashes she lie buried.” 

King Henry V. 

And now was heard on the clear night air the shrill blast 
of a solitary trumpet breathing defiance, and announcing 
to the besieged loyalists, the presence of the insurgents be- 
fore the walls of Jamestown. Exhausted by their long 
march, and depressed by the still gloomy prospect before 
them, the thinned ranks of the rebel army required all the 
encouraging eloquence of their general, to urge them for- 
ward in their perilous duty. Nor did they need it long. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


275 


Drawing liis wearied, but faithful followers around him, the 
young and ardent enthusiast addressed them in language 
like the following : 

“ Soldiers,” 

“ Animated by a desire to free your country from the 
incursions of a savage foe, you have crowned your arms 
with victory and your lives with honor. You have anni- 
hilated the Indian power in Virginia, and in the waters of 
the brook which was the witness of your victory, you have 
washed away the stains of its cruelty. The purple blood 
which dyed that fatal stream, has even now passed away ; 
Yet your deeds shall survive in the name which you have 
given it. And future generations, when they look upon its 
calm and unstained bosom, will remember with grateful 
hearts, those brave men who have given security to their 
homes, and will bless your patriot names when they repeat 
the story of Bloody Run. 

“ For this you have been proclaimed traitors to your 
country and rebels to your king. Traitors to a country 
within whose borders the Indian war whoop has been hushed 
by your exertions 1 Rebels to ybur king for preserving 
Virginia, the brightest jewel in his crown, from inevitable 
ruin ! But though you have accomplished much, much yet 
remains undone. Then nerve your stout hearts and gird 
on your armour once more for the contest. Though your 
enemies are not to be despised, they are not to be feared. 
They fight as mercenaries uninspired by the cause which 
they have espoused. You battle for freedom, for honor 
and for life. Your freedom is threatened by the oppressions 
of a relentless tyrant and a subservient Assembly. Your 
honor is assailed, for you are publicly branded as traitors. 
Your lives are proscribed by those who have basely charged 
your patriotism as treason, and your defence of your country 
as rebellion. Be not dismayed with the numbers of youi 


276 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

foes. Think only that it is yours to lessen them. Remember 
that Peace can never come to you, though you woo it never 
so sweetly. You must go to it, even though your way thither 
lay through a sea of blood. You will find me ever where 
danger is thickest. I will share your peril now and your 
reward hereafter.” 

Inspired with new ardour, by the words and still more by 
the example of their leader, the soldiers proceeded to the 
task of constructing a breastwork for their defence. Bacon 
himself at imminent risk to his person, drew with his own 
hands the line for the entrenchment, while the soldiers pre- 
pared for themselves a secure defence from attack by a 
breastwork composed of felled trees, earth, and brushwood. 
It was a noble sight, I ween, to see these hardy patriots 
of the olden time, nearly sinking under fatigue, yet working 
cheerfully and ardently in the cause of freedom — to hear 
their axes ringing merrily through the still night air, and 
the tall forest trees falling with a heavy crash, as they were 
preparing their rude fortifications ; and to look up on the 
cold, silent moon, as she watched them from her high path 
in heaven, and you might almost think, smiled with cold 
disdain, to think that all their hopes would be blasted, and 
their ardour checked by defeat, while she in her pride of 
fulness would traverse that same high arch twelve hundred 
times before the day-star of freedom dawned upon the land. 

Meantime the besieged loyalists having heard with sur- 
prise and consternation, the story of Mrs. Temple and Vir- 
ginia, were completely confounded. Pearing to fire a single 
gun, lest the ball intended for their adversaries might 
pierce the heart of some innocent woman, they were forced 
to await with impatience the completion of the works of 
the insurgents. The latter had not the same reason for 
forbearance, and made several successful sorties upon the 
palisades, which surrounded the town, effecting several 
breaches, and killing some men, but without loss to any 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


277 


their own party. Furious at the successful stratagems of 
the rebels and fearing an accession to their number from 
the surrounding country, Sir William Berkeley at length 
determined to make a sally from the town, and test the 
strength and courage of his adversaries in an open field. 
Bacon, meanwhile, having effected his object in securing a 
sufficient fortification, with much courtesy dismissed the 
captive ladies, who went, rejoicing at their liberation, to 
tell the story of their wrongs to their loyal husbands. 

The garrison of Jamestown consisting of about twenty 
cavalier loyalists, and eight hundred raw, undisciplined 
recruits, picked up by Berkeley during his stay in Accomac, 
were led on firmly towards the entrenchments of the rebels, 
by Beverley and Ludwell, who stood high in the confidence 
of the Governor, and in the esteem of the colony, as brave 
and chivalrous men. Among the subordinate officers in 
the garrison was Alfred Bernard, rejoicing in the commis- 
sion of captain, but recently conferred, and burning to dis- 
tinguish himself in a contest against the rebels. From 
their posts behind the entrenchment, the insurgents calmly 
watched the approach of their foes. Undismayed by their 
numbers, nearly four times as great as their own, they 
awaited patiently the signal of their general to begin the 
attack. Bacon, on his part, with all the ardour of his 
nature, possessed in an equal degree the coolness and pru- 
dence of a great general, and was determined not to risk a 
fire, until the enemy was sufficiently near to ensure heavy 
execution. When at length the front line of the assail- 
ants advanced within sixty yards of the entrenchment, 
he gave the word, which was obeyed with tremendous effect, 
and then without leaving their posts, they prepared to 
renew their fire. But it was not necessary. Despite the 
exhortations and prayers of their gallant officers, the royal 
army, dismayed at the first fire of the enemy, broke ranks 
and retreated, leaving their drum and their dead upon the 


278 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


field. In vain did Ludwell exhort them, in the name of the 
king, to return to the assault; in vain did the brave Bev- 
erley implore them as Virginians and Englishmen not to 
desert their colors; in vain did Alfred Bernard conjure 
them to retrieve the character of soldiers and of men, and 
to avenge the cause of wronged and insulted women upon 
the cowardly oppressors. Regardless alike of king, country 
or the laws of gallantry, the soldiers ran like frightened 
sheep, from their pursuers, nor stopped in their flight until 
once more safely ensconced behind their batteries, and 
under the protection of the cannon from the ships. The 
brave cavaliers looked aghast at this cowardly defection, and 
stood for a moment irresolute, with the guns of the insur- 
gents bearing directly upon them. Bacon could easily 
have fired upon them with certain effect, but with the mag- 
nanimity of a brave man, he was struck with admiration for 
their dauntless courage, and with pity for their helplessness. 
Nor was he by any means anxious to pursue them, for he 
feared lest a victory so easily won, might be a stratagem of 
the enemy, and that by venturing to pursue, he might fall 
into an ambuscade. Contenting himself, therefore, with 
the advantage he had already gained, he remained behind 
his entrenchment, determined to wait patiently for the 
morrow, before he commenced another attack upon the 
tow*. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


279 


CHAPTER XXXYII. 

u Let’s leave this town ; for they are hairbrained slaves, 

And hunger will enforce them to be more eager. 

Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
The walls they’ll tear down, than forsake the siege.” 

King Henry VI. 


It was very late, but there were few in J amestown on 
that last night of its existence that cared to sleep. Those 
who were not kept awake by the cares of state or military 
duties, were yet suffering from an intense apprehension, 
which denied them repose. There was “ hurrying to and 
fro,” along Stuart street, and “ whispering with white 
lips,” among the thronging citizens. Ever siding with the 
stronger party, and inclined to attribute to the besieged 
Governor the whole catalogue of evils under which the 
colony was groaning, many of the lower classes of the 
citizens expressed their sympathy with Nathaniel Bacon, 
and only awaited a secret opportunity to desert to his 
ranks. A conspiracy was ripening among the soldiery to 
open the gates to the insurgents, and surrender at once the 
town and the Governor into their hands — but over-awed by 
the resolute boldness of their leader, and wanting in the 
strength of will to act for themselves, they found it difficult 
to carry their plan into execution. ^ 

Sir William Berkeley, with a few of his steady adherents 
and faithful friends, was anxiously awaiting, in the large 
hall of the palace, the tidings of the recent sally upon the 
besiegers. Notwithstanding the superior numbers of his 
men, he had but little confidence either in their loyalty or 
courage, while he was fully conscious of the desperate 


280 TIIE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

bravery of the insurgents. While hope whispered that the 
little band of rebels must yield to the overwhelming force 
of the garrison, fear interposed, to warn him of the danger 
of defection and cowardice in his ranks. As thus he sat 
anxiously endeavouring to guess the probable result of his 
sally, heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. 
The heart of the old Governor beat thick with apprehen- 
sion, and the damp drops wrung from him by anxiety and 
care, stood in cold beads upon his brow. 

“ What news ?” he cried, in a hoarse, agitated voice, as 
Colonel Ludwell, Robert Beverley, and Alfred Bernard 
entered the room. “ But I read it in your countenances 1 
All is lost I” 

# “Yes, Governor Berkeley,” said Philip Ludwell, “ all is 
lost 1 we have not even the melancholy consolation of 
Francis, ‘that our honour is preserved.’ The cowardly 
hinds who followed us, fled from the first charge of the 
rebels, like frightened hares. All attempts to rally them 
were in vain, and many of them we understand have joined 
with the rebels.” 

As the fatal tidings fell upon his ear, Berkeley pressed 
his hand to his forehead, and sobbed aloud. The heart of 
the brave old loyalist could bear no more — and all the 
haughty dignity of his nature gave way in a flood of bitter 
tears. But the effect was only transient, and nerving him- 
self, he controlled his feelings once more by the energy of 
his iron will. 

“ How many still remain with us ?” he asked, anxiously, 
of Ludwell. 

“ Alas 1 sir, if the rumour which we heard as we came 
hither be true — none, absolutely none. There was an 
immense crowd gathered around the tavern, listening to 
the news of our defeat from one of the soldiers, and as we 
passed a loud and insulting cry went up of “Long live 
Bacon ! and down with tyranny 1” The soldiers declared 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


281 


that they would not stain their hands with the blood of 
their fellow-subjects; the citizens as vehemently declared 
that the town itself should not long harbour those who had 
trampled on their rights. Treason stalks abroad boldly 
and openly, and I fear that the loyalty of Virginia is con- 
fined to this room.” 

“ Now, Heaven help me,” said Berkeley, sadly, “for the 
world has well nigh deserted me. And yet, if I fall, I shall 
fall at my post, and the trust bestowed upon me by my 
king shall be yielded only with my life.” 

“ It were madness to think of remaining longer here,” 
said Beverley ; “ the rebels, with the most consummate 
courage, evince the most profound prudence and judgment. 
Before the dawn they will bring their pannon to bear upon 
our ships and force them to withdraw from the harbour, 
and then all means of escape being cut off, we will be 
forced to surrender on such terms as the enemy may dic- 
tate.” 

“We will yield to no terms,” replied Berkeley. “For 
myself, death is far preferable to dishonour. Bather than 
surrender the trust which I have in charge, let us remain 
here, until, like the brave senators of Rome, we are hacked 
to pieces at our posts by the swords of these barbarians.” 

“ But what can you expect to gain by such a desperate 
course,” said old Ballard, who, though not without a suf- 
ficient degree of courage, would prefer rather to admire the 
heroism of the Roman patriots in history, than to vie with 
them in their desperate resolution. 

“ I expect to retain my honour,” cried the brave old 
Governor. “A brave man may suffer death — he can never 
submit to dishonour.” 

“ My honoured Governor,” said Major Beverley, whose 
well-known courage and high-toned chivalry gave great 
effect to his counsel ; “ believe me, that we all admire your 
steady loyalty and your noble heroism. But reflect, that 


282 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


you gain nothing by desperation, and it is the part of true 
courage not to hazard a desperate risk without any hope 
of success. God knows that I would willingly yield up my 
own life to preserve unsullied the honour of my country, 
and the dignity of my king ; but I doubt how far we serve 
his real interests by a deliberate sacrifice of all who are 
loyal to his cause.” 

“And what then would you advise ?” said the Governor, 
in an irritated . manner. “To make a base surrender of 
our persons and our cause, and to grant to these insolent 
rebels every concession which their insolence may choose to 
demand? No! gentlemen, sooner would William Berke- 
ley remain alone at his post, until his ashes mingled with 
the ashes of this* palace, than yield one inch to rebels in 
arms.” 

“It is not necessary,” returned Beverley. “ You may 
escape without loss of life or compromise of honour, and 
reserve until a future day your vengeance on these dis- 
loyal barbarians.” 

Berkeley was silent. 

“ Look,” continued Beverley, leading the old loyalist to 
the window which overlooked the river ; “ by the light of 
dawn you can see the white sails of the Adam and Eve, as 
she rests at anchor in yonder harbor. There is still time 
to escape before the rebels can suspect our design. Once 
upon the deck of that little vessel, with her sails unfurled, 
to this rising breeze, you may defy the threats of the be- 
siegers. Then once more to your faithful Accomac, and 
when the forces from Englaud shall arrive, trained bands 
of loyal and brave Britons, your vengeance shall then be 
commensurate with the indignities you have suffered.” 

Still Berkeley hesitated, but his friends could see by the 
quiver of his lip, that the struggle was still going on, and 
that he was thinking with grim satisfaction of that prom- 
ised vengeance. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


283 


“ Let me urge you,” continued Beverley, encouraged by 
the effect which he was evidently producing; “let me urge 
you to a prompt decision. Will you remain longer in 
Jamestown, this nest of traitors, and expose your faithful 
adherents to certain death ? Is loyalty so common in Vir- 
ginia, that you will suffer these brave supporters of your 
cause to be sacrificed ? Will you leave their wives and 
daughters, whom they can no longer defend, to the insults 
and outrages of a band of lawless adventurers, who have 
shown that they disregard the rights of men, and the more 
sacred deference due to a woman ? We have done all that 
became us, as loyal citizens, to do. We have sustained the 
standard of the king until it were madness, not courage, 
further to oppose the designs of the rebels. Beset by a 
superior force, and with treason among our own citizens, 
and defection among our own soldiers — with but twenty 
stout hearts still true and faithful to their trust — our alter- 
native is between surrender and death on the one hand, and 
flight and future vengeance on the other. Can you longer 
hesitate between the two ? But see, the sky grows brighter 
toward the east, and the morning comes to increase the 
perils of the night. I beseech you, by my loyalty and my 
devotion to your interest, decide quickly and wisely.” 

“ I will go,” replied Berkeley, after a brief pause, in a 
voice choking with emotion. “But God is my witness, 
that if I only were concerned, rebellion should learn that 
there was a loyalist who held his sacred trust so near his 
heart, that it could only be yielded with his life-blood. But 
why should I thus boast ? Do with me as you please — I 
will go.” 

No sooner was Berkeley’s final decision known, than the 
whole palace was in a state of preparation. Hurriedly 
putting up such necessaries as would be needed in their 
temporary exile, the loyalists were soon ready for their 
sudden departure. Lady Frances, stately as ever, remained 


284 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


perhaps rather longer before her mirror, in the arrangement 
of her tire, than was consistent with their hasty flight. 
Virginia Temple scarcely devoted a moment for her own 
preparations, so constantly was her assistance required by 
her mother, who v bustled about from trunk to trunk, in a 
perfect agony of haste — found she had locked up her 
mantle, which was in the very bottom of an immense trunk, 
and finally, when she had put her spectacles and keys in 
her pocket, declared that they were lost, and required Vir- 
ginia to search in every hole and corner of the room for 
them. But with all these delays — ever incident to ladies, 
and old ones especially, when starting on a journey — the 
little party were at length announced to be ready for their 
“ moonlight flitting.” Sadly and silently they left the palace 
to darkness and solitude, and proceeded towards the river. 
At the bottom of the garden, which ran down to the banks’ 
of the river, were two large boats, belonging to the Gov- 
ernor, and which were often used in pleasure excursions. 
In these the fugitives embarked, and under the muscular 
efforts of the strong oarsmen, the richly freighted boats 
scudded rapidly through the water towards the good ship 
“Adam and Eve,” which lay at a considerable distance 
from the shore, to avoid the guns of the insurgents. 

Alfred Bernard had the good fortune to have the fair 
Virginia under his immediate charge ; but the hearts of 
both were too full to improve the opportunity with much 
conversation. The young intriguer, who cared but little in 
his selfish heart for either loyalists or rebels, still felt that 
he had placed his venture on a wrong card, and was about 
to lose. The hopes of preferment which he had cherished 
were about to be dissipated by the ill fortune of his patron, 
and the rival of his love, crowned with success, he feared, 
might yet bear away the prize which he had so ardently 
coveted. Virginia Temple had more generous cause for 
depression than he. H<?rs was the hard lot to occupy a 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 285 

position of neutrality in interest between the contending 
parties. Whichever faction in the State succeeded, she 
must be a mourner ; for, in either case, she was called upon 
to sacrifice an idol which she long had cherished, and which 
she must now yield for ever. They sat together near the 
stern of the boat, and watched the moonlight diamonds 
which sparkled for a moment on the white spray that 
dropped from the dripping oar, and then passed away. 

“ It is thus,” said Bernard, with a heavy sigh. “ It is thus 
with this present transient life. We dance for a moment 
upon the white waves of fortune, rejoicing in light and hope 
and joy — but the great, unfeeling world rolls on, regardless 
of our little life, while we fade even while we sparkle, and 
our places are supplied by others, who in their turn, dance 
and shine, and smile, and pass away, and are forgotten !” 

“It is even so,” said Virginia, sadly — then turning her 
blue eyes upward, she added, sweetly, “ but see, Mr. Ber- 
nard, the moon which shines so still and beautiful in heaven, 
partakes not of the changes of these reflected fragments of 
her brightness. So we, when reunited to the heaven from 
which our spirits came, will shine again unchangeable and 
happy. ” 

“Yes, my sweet one,” replied her lover passionately, 
“ and were it my destiny to be ever thus with you, and to 
hear the sweet eloquence of your pure lips, I would not 
need a place in heaven to be happy.” 

“Mr. Bernard,” said Virginia, “is this a time or place 
to speak thus ? The circumstances by which we are sur- 
rounded should check every selfish thought for the time, in 
our care for the more important interests at stake.” 

“ My fair, young loyalist,” said Bernard, “ and is it be- 
cause of the interest excited in your bosom by the fading 
cause of loyalty, that you check so quickly the slightest 
word of admiration from one whom you have called youi 


286 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


friend? Nay, fair maiden, be truthful even though you 
should be cruel.” 

“To be candid, then, Mr. Bernard,” returned Virginia, 
“ I thought we had long ago consented not to mention that 
subject again. I hope you will be faithful to your promise.” 

“My dearest Virginia, that compact was made when 
your heart had been given to another whom you thought 
worthy to reign there. Surely,' you cannot, after the events 
of to-night oppose such an obstacle to my suit. Your 
gentle heart, my girl, is too pure and holy a shrine to 
afford refuge to a rebel, and a profaner of woman’s sacred 
rights. ” 

“ Mr. Bernard,” said Virginia, “ another word on this 
subject, and I seek refuge myself from your insults. You, 
who are the avowed champion of woman’s rights, should 
know that she owns no right so sacred as to control the 
affections of her own heart. I have before told you in terms 
too plain to be misunderstood, that I can never love you. 
Force me not to repeat what you profess may give you pain, 
and above all force me, not by your unwelcome and ungene- 
rous assaults upon an absent rival to substitute for the real 
interest which I feel in your happiness, a feeling more 
strong and decided, but less friendly.” 

“ You mean that you would hate me,” said Bernard, cut 
to the heart at her language, at once so firm and decided, 
yet so guarded and courteous. “Very well,” he added, 
with an hauteur but illy assumed. “ I trust I have more 
independence and self-respect than to intrude my attentions 
or conversation where they are unwelcome. But see, our 
journey is at an end, and though Miss Temple might have 
made it more pleasant, I am glad that we are freed from 
the embarrassment that we both must feel in a more 
extended interview.” 

And now the loud voice of Captain Gardiner is heard 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


287 


demanding their names and wishes, which are soon told. 
The hoarse cable grates harshly along the ribs of the vessel, 
and the boats are drawn up close to her broadside, and the 
loyal fugitives ascending the rude and tremulous rope- 
ladder, stand safe and sound upon the deck of the Adam 
and Eve. 

Scarcely had Berkeley and his adherents departed on 
their flight from Jamestown, when some of the disaffected 
citizens of the town, seeing. the lights in the palace so sud- 
denly extinguished, shrewdly suspected their design. With- 
out staying to ascertain the truth of their suspicions, they 
hastened with the intelligence to General Bacon, and threw 
open the gates to the insurgents. Highly elated with the easy 
victory they had gained over the loyalists, the triumphant 
patriots forgetting their fatigue and hunger, marched into 
the city, amid the loud acclamations of the fickle populace. 
But to the surprise of all there was still a gloom resting 
upon Bacon and his officers. That cautious and far-seeing 
man saw at a glance, that although he had gained an im- 
mense advantage over the royalists, in the capture of the 
metropolis, it was impossible to retain it in possession long. 
As soon as his army was dispersed, or engaged in another 
quarter of the colony, it would be easy for Berkeley, with 
the navy under his command, to return to the place, and 
erect once more the fallen standard of loyalty. 

While then, the soldiery were exulting rapturously ovei 
their triumph, Bacon, surrounded by his officers, was gravely 
considering the best policy to pursue. 

“ My little army is too small/’ he said, “to leave a gar- 
rison here, and so long as they remain thus organized peace 
will be banished from the colony ; and yet I cannot leave 
the town to become again the harbour of these treacherous 
loyalists.” 

“ I can suggest no policy that is fit to pursue, in such an 
emergency,” said Hansford, “except to retain possession 


288 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

of the town, at least until the Governor is fairly in 
Accomac again.” 

“That, at best,” said Bacon, “will only be a dilatory 
proceeding, for sooner or later, whenever the army is dis- 
banded, the stubborn old governor will return and force us 
to continue the war. And besides I doubt whether we 
could maintain the place with Brent besieging us in front, 
and the whole naval force of Virginia, under the command 
of such expert seamen as Gardiner and Larimore, attacking 
us from the river. No, no, the only way to untie the Gordian 
knot is to cut it, and the only way to extricate ourselves 
from this difficulty is to burn the town.” 

This policy, extreme as it was, in the necessities of their 
condition was received with a murmur of assent. Lawrence 
and Drummond, devoted patriots, and two of the wealthiest 
and most enterprising citizens of the town, evinced their 
willingness to sacrifice their private means to secure the 
public good, by firing their own houses. Emulating an 
example so noble and disinterested, other citizens followed 
in their wake. The soldiers, ever ready for excitement, 
joined in the fatal work. A stiff breeze springing up, 
favored their design, and soon the devoted town was en- 
veloped in the greedy flames. 

From the deck of the Adam and Eve, the loyalists wit- 
nessed the stern, uncompromising resolution of the rebels. 
The sun was just rising, and his broad, red disc was met in 
his morning glory with flames as bright and as intense as 
his own. The Palace, the State House, the large Garter 
Tavern, the long line of stores, and the Warehouse, all in 
succession were consumed. The old Church, the proud old 
Church, where their fathers had worshipped, was the last to 
meet its fate. The fire seemed unwilling to attack its 
sacred walls, but it was to fall with the rest ; and as the 
broad sails uf the gay vessel were spread to the morning 
breeze, which swelled them, that devoted old Church was 


THK DETOTED BRIDE. 


289 


seen in its raiment of fire, like some old martyr, hugging 
the flames which consumed it, and pointing with its tapering 
steeple to an avenging Heaven. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

"We take no note of time but by its loss.” 

Young. 

It is permitted to the story teller, like the angels of ancient 
metaphysicians, to pass from point to point, and from event 
to event, without traversing the intermediate space or timp 
A romance thus becomes a moving panorama, where the 
prominent objects of interest pass in review before the 
eyes of the spectator, and not an atlas or chart, where the 
toiling student, with rigid scrutiny must seek the latitude 
and longitude of every object which meets his view. 

Availing ourselves of this privilege, we will pass rapidly 
over the events which occurred subsequently to the burning 
of Jamestown, and again resume the narrative where it 
more directly affects the fortunes of Hansford and Virginia. 
We will then suppose that it is about the first of January, 
1617, three months after the circumstances detailed in the 
last chapter. Nathaniel Bacon, the arch rebel, as the loyal 
historians and legislators of his day delighted to call him, 
has passed away from the scenes of earth. The damp 
trenches of Jamestown, more fatal than the arms of his 
adversaries, have stilled the restless beating of that bold 
heart, which in other circumstances might have insured 
success to the cause of freedom. An ipdustrious compiler 
of the laws of Virginia, and an ingenious commentator on 

her Colonial History, has suggested from the phraseology 
18 


290 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

of one of the Acts of the Assembly, that Bacon met his 
fate by the dagger of the assassin, employed by the revenge- 
ful Berkeley. But the account of his death is too authentic 
to admit of such a supposition, and the character of Sir 
William Berkeley, already clouded with relentless cruelty, 
is happily freed from the foul imputation, that to the preju- 
dices and sternness of the avenging loyalist he added the 
atrocity of a malignant fiend. We have the most authentic 
testimony, that Nathaniel Bacon died of a dysentery, con- 
tracted by his exposure in the trenches of Jamestown, at 
the house of a Dr. Pate, in the county of Gloucester ; and 
that the faithful Lawrence, to screen his insensate clay from 
the rude vengeance of the Governor, gave the young hero 
a grave in some unknown forest, where after life’s fitful 
fever he sleeps well. 

The cause of freedom, having lost its head, fell a prey to 
discord and defection. In the selection of a leader to suc- 
ceed the gallant Bacon, dissensions prevailed among the 
insurgents, and disgusted at last with the trials to which 
they were exposed, and wearied with the continuance of a 
civil war, the great mass of the people retired quietly to 
their homes. Ingram and Walklate, who attempted to 
revive the smouldering ashes of the rebellion, were the 
embodiments of frivolity and stupidity, and were unable to 
retain that influence over the stern and high-toned patriots 
which was essential to united action. Deprived of their 
support, as may be easily conjectured, there was no longer 
any difficulty in suppressing the ill-fated rebellion ; and 
Walklate, foreseeing the consequences of further resistance, 
resolved to make a separate peace for himself and a few 
personal friends, and to leave his more gallant comrades to 
their fate. The terms of treaty proposed by Berkeley were 
dispatched by Captain Gardiner to the selfish leader, who, 
with the broken remnant of the insurgents, was stationed at 
West Point. He acceded to the terms with avidity, and 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 291 

thus put a final end to a rebellion, which, even at that early 
day, was so near securing the blessings of rational freedom 
to Virginia. 

Meantime, the long expected aid from England had 
arrived, and Berkeley, with an organized and reliable force 
at his command, prepared, with grim satisfaction, to execute 
his terrible vengeance upon the proscribed and fugitive 
insurgents. Major Beverley, at the head of a considerable 
force, was dispatched in pursuit of such of the unhappy 
men as might linger secreted in the woods and marshes 
near the river — and smaller parties were detailed for the 
same object in other parts of the colony. Many of the 
fugitives were captured arid brought before the relentless 
Governor. There, mocked and insulted in their distress, 
the devoted patriots were condemned by a court martial, 
and with cruel haste hurried to execution. The fate of the 
gallant Lawrence, to whom incidental allusion has been 
frequently made in the foregoing pages, was long uncertain 
— but at last those interested in his fate were forced to the 
melancholy conclusion, that well nigh reduced to starvation 
in his marshy fastness, with Roman firmness, the brave 
patriot fell by his own hand, rather than submit to the 
ruthless cruelty of the vindictive Governor. 

Thomas Hansford was among those who were proscribed 
fugitives from the vengeance of the loyalists. He had in 
vain endeavoured to rally the dispirited insurgents, and to 
hazard once more the event of a battle with the royal party. 
He indignantly refused to accept the terms, so readily 
embraced by Walldate, and determined to share the fate of 
those brave comrades, in whose former triumph he had 
participated.' And now, a lonely wanderer, he eluded the 
vigilant pursuit of his enemies, awaiting with anxiety, the 
respite which royal interposition would grant, to the un- 
abating vengeance of the governor. He was not without 
strong hope that the clemency which reflected honour on 


292 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


Charles the Second, towards the enemies of his father, 
would be extended to the promoters of the ill-fated rebel- 
lion in Virginia. In default of this, he trusted to make 
his escape into Maryland, after the eagerness of pursuit 
was over, and there secretly to embark for England — where, 
under an assumed name, he might live out the remnant of 
his days in peace and security, if not in happiness. It was 
with a heavy heart that he looked forward to even this 
remote chance of escape and safety — for it involved the 
necessity of leaving, for ever, his widowed mother, who 
leaned upon his strong arm for support ; and his beloved 
Virginia, in whose smiles of favour, he could alone be 
happy. Still, it was the only honourable chance that 
offered, and while as a brave man he had nerved himself for 
any fate, as a good man, he could not reject the means of 
safety which were extended to him. 

While these important changes were taking place in the 
political world, the family at Windsor Hall were differently 
affected by the result. Colonel Temple, in the pride of his 
gratified loyalty, could not disguise his satisfaction even 
from his unhappy daughter, and rubbed his hands gleefully 
as the glad tinings came that the rebellion had been quelled. 
The old lady shared his happiness with all her heart, but 
mingled with her joy some of the harmless vanity of her 
nature. She attributed the happy result in a good degree 
to the counsel and wisdom of her husband, and recurred 
with great delight to her own bountiful hospitality to the 
fugitive loyalists. Hay, in the excess of her self-gratula- 
tion, she even hinted an opinion, that if Colonel Temple 
had remained in England, the cause of loyalty would have 
been much advanced, and that General Monk would not 
have borne away the palm of having achieved the glorious 
restoration. 

But these loyal sentiments of gratulation met with no 
response in the heart of Virginia Temple. The exciting 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 293 

scenes through which she had lately passed had left their 
traces on her young heart. No more the laughing, thought- 
less, happy girl whom we have known, shedding light and 
gaiety on all around her, she had gained, in the increased 
strength and development of her character, much to com- 
pensate for the loss. The furnace which evaporates the 
lighter particles of the ore, leaves the precious metal in 
their stead. Thus is it with the trying furnace of affliction 
in the formation of the human character, and such was its 
effect upon Virginia. She no longer thought or felt as a 
girl. She felt that she was a woman, called upon to act a 
woman’s part ; and relying on her strengthened nature, but 
more upon the hand whose protection she had early learned 
to seek, she was prepared to act that part. The fate of 
Hansford was unknown to her. She had neither seen nor 
heard from him since that awful night, when she parted 
from him at the gate of Jamestown. Convinced of his 
high sense of honour, and his heroic daring, she knew that 
he was the last to desert a falling cause, and she trembled 
for his life, should he fall into the hands of the enraged and 
relentless Berkeley. But even if her fears in this respect 
were groundless, the future was still dark to her. The 
bright dream which she had cherished, that he to whom, in 
the trusting truth of her young heart, she had plighted her 
troth, would share with her the joys and hopes of life, was 
now, alas ! dissipated forever. A proscribed rebel, an out- 
cast from home, her father’s loyal prejudices were such that 
she could never hope to unite her destiny with Hansford. 
And yet, dreary as the future had become, she bore up nobly 
in the struggle, and, with patient submission, resigned her 
fate to the will of Heaven. 

Her chief employment now was to train the mind of the 
young Mamalis to truth, and in this sacred duty she derived 
new consolation in her affliction. The young Indian girl 
had made Windsor Hall her home since the death of her 


294 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


brother. The generous nature of Colonel Temple could 
not refuse to the poor orphan, left alone on earth without 
a protector, a refuge and a home beneath his roof. Nor 
were the patient and prayerful instructions of Virginia 
without their reward. The light which had long been 
struggling to obtain an entrance to her heart, now burst 
forth in the full effulgence of the truth, and the trusting 
Mamalis had felt, in all its beauty and reality, the assurance 
of the promise, “ Come unto me all ye that labour and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Her manners, 
which, with all of her association with Virginia, had some- 
thing of the wildness of the savage, were now softened and 
subdued. Her picturesque but wild costume, which re- 
minded her of her former life, was discarded for the more 
modest dress which the refinement of civilization had pre- 
scribed. Her fine, expressive countenance, which had often 
been darkened by reflecting the wild passions of her unsub- 
dued heart, was now radiant with peaceful joy ; and as you 
gazed upon the softened expression, the tranquil and com- 
posed bearing of the young girl, you might well “ take 
knowledge of her that she had been with Jesus.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


295 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

“ Farewell and blessings on thy way, 

Where'r thou goest, beloved stranger, 

Better to sit and watch that ray, 

And think thee safe though far away. 

Than have thee near me and in danger.” 

Lalla Roohlc. 

Moonlight at Windsor Hall ! The waning, January 
moon shone coldly and brightly, as it rose above the 
dense forest which surrounded the once more peaceful home 
of Colonel Temple. The tall poplars which shaded the 
quiet yard were silvered with its light, and looked like 
medieval knights all clad in burnished and glistening mail. 
The crisp hoarfrost that whitened the frozen ground 
sparkled in the mellow beams, like twinkling stars, descended 
to earth, and drinking in with rapture the clear light of 
their native heaven. Not a sound was heard save the 
dreary, wintry blast, as it sighed its mournful requium over 
the dead year, “gone from the earth for ever.” 

Virginia Temple had not yet retired to rest, although it 
was growing late. She was sitting alone, in her little 
chamber, and watching the glowing embers on the hearth, 
as they sparkled for a moment, and shed a ruddy light 
around, and then were extinguished, throwing the whole 
room into dark shadow. Sad emblem, these fleeting sparks, 
of the hopes that had once been bright before her, assum- 
ing fancied shapes of future joy and peace and love, and 
then dying to leave her sad heart the darker for their formei 
presence. In the solitude of her own thoughts she was 
taking a calm review of her past life — her early childhood — 
when she played in innocent mirth beneath the shade of the 
oak? and poplars that still stood unchanged in the yard — 


296 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

her first acquaintance with Hansford, which opened a new 
world to her young heart, replete with joys and treasures 
unknown before — all the thrilling events of the last few 
months — her last meeting with her lover, and his prayer that 
she at least would not censure him, when he was gone — 
her present despondency and gloom — all these thoughts 
came in slow and solemn procession across her mind, like 
dreary ghosts of the buried past. 

Suddenly she was startled from her reverie by the sound 
of a low, sweet, familiar voice, beneath her window, and, as 
she listened, the melancholy spirit of the singer sought and 
found relief in the following tender strains : 

“ Once more I seek thy quiet home, 

My tale of love to tell. 

Once more from danger’s field I come. 

To breathe a last farewell I 
Though hopes are flown, 

Though friends are gone ; 

Yet wheresoe’r I flee, 

I still retain, 

And hug the chain 
Which binds my soul to thee. 

“ My heart, like some lone chamber left, 

Must, mouldering, fall at last j 
Of hope, of love, of thee bereft, 

It lives but in the past. 

With jealous care, 

I cherish there 
The web, however small, 

That memory weaves, 

And mercy leaves, 

Upon that ruined wall. 

u Though Tyranny, with bloody laws, 

May dig my early grave, 

Yet death, when met in Freedom’s cause. 

Is sweetest to the brave ; 

Wedded to her, 

Without a fear. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


297 


I’ll mount her funeral pile, 

Welcome the death 
Which seals my faith, 

And meet it with a smile. 

“ While, like the tides, that softly swell 
To kiss their mother moon, 

Thy gentle soul will soar to dwell 
In visions with mine own $ 

As skies distil 
The dews that fill 
The blushing rose at even, 

So blest above, 

I’ll mourn thy love 
And weep for thee in heaven.” 

It needed not the well-known voice of Hansford to assure 
the weeping girl that he was near her. The burden of that 
sad song, which found an echo in her own heart, told her 
too plainly that it could be only he. It was no time for 
delicate scruples of propriety. She only knew that he was 
near her and in danger. Rising from her chair, and throw- 
ing around her a shawl to protect her from the chill night 
air, she hastened to the door. In another moment they 
were in each other’s arms. 

“ Oh, my own Virginia,” said Hansford, “ this is too, too 
kind. I had only thought to come and breathe a last fare- 
well, and then steal from your presence for ever. I felt that 
it was a privilege to be near you, to watch, unseen, the 
flickering light reflected from your presence. This itself 
had been reward sufficient for the peril I encounter. How 
sweet then to hear once more the accents of your voice, 
and to feel once more the warm beating of your faithful 
heart. ” 

“And could you think,” said Virginia, as she wept upon 
his shoulder, “ that knowing you to be in danger, I could 
fail to see you. Oh, Hansford ! you little know the truth 
of woman’s love if you can for a moment doubt that your 
misfortune and your peril have made you doubly dear.” 


298 


the devoted bride. 


“Yet how brief must be my stay. The avenger is be- 
hind me, and I must soon resume my lonely wandering.” 

“ And will you again leave me ?” asked Yirginia, in a 
reproachful tone. 

“ Leave you, dearest, oh, how sweet would be my fate, 
after all my cares and sufferings, if I could but die here. 
But this must not be. Though I trust I know how to 
meet death as a brave man, yet it is my duty, as a good 
man, to leave no honourable means untried to save my life.” 

“ But your danger cannot be so great, dearest,” said 
Virginia, tenderly. “ Surely my father- — ” 

“Would feel it his duty,” said Hansford, interrupting 
her, “ to deliver me up to justice ; and feeling it to be such, 
he would have the moral firmness to discharge it. Poor 
old gentleman! like many of his party, his prejudice per- 
verts his true and generous heart. My poor country must 
suffer long before she can overcome the opposition of 
bigoted loyalty. Forgive me for speaking thus of your 
noble father, Virginia — but prejudices like these are the 
thorns which spring up in his heart and choke the true 
word of freedom, and render it unfruitful. Is it not so, 
dearest ?” 

“ You mistake his generous nature,” said Virginia, 
earnestly. “You mistake his love forme. You mistake 
his sound judgment. You mistake his high sense of 
honour. Think you that he sees no difference between 
the man who, impelled by principle, asserts what he be- 
lieves to be a right, and him, who for his own selfish ends 
and personal advancement, would sacrifice his country. 
Yes, my dear friend, you mistake my father. He will 
gladly interpose with the Governor and restore you to 
happiness, to freedom, and to — ” 

She paused, unable to proceed for the sobs that choked 
her utterance, and then gave vent to a flood of passionate 
grief. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 299 

“ You would add, ‘and to thee,’ ” said Hansford, finish- 
ing the sentence. “ God knows, my girl, that such a hope 
would make me dare more peril than I have yet encoun- 
tered. But, alas I if it were even as you say, what weight 
would his remonstrance have with that imperious old 
tyrant, Berkeley ? It would be but the thistle-down 
against the cannon ball in the scales of his justice.” 

“ He dare not refuse my father’s demands,” said Vir- 
ginia. “ One who has been so devoted to his cause, who 
has sacrificed so much for his king, and who has afforded 
shelter and protection to the Governor himself in the hour 
of his peril and need, is surely entitled to this poor favour 
at his hands. He dare not refuse to grant it.” 

“Alas! Virginia, you little know the character of Sir 
William Berkeley, when you say he dares not. But the 
very qualities which you claim, and justly claim, for your 
father, would prevent him from exerting that influence 
with the Governor which your hopes whisper would be so 
successful — ‘His noble nature’ would prompt him at. any 
sacrifice to yield personal feeling to a sense of public duty. 

‘ His love for you ’ would prompt him to rescue you from 
the rebel who dared aspire to your hand. ‘His sound 
judgment ’ would dictate the maxim, that it were well for 
one man to die for the people; and his ‘high sense of 
honour’ would prevent him from interposing between a 
condemned traitor and his deserved doom. Be assured, 
Virginia, that thus would your father reason ; and with his 
views of loyalty and justice, I could not blame him for the 
conclusion to which he came.” 

“ Then in God’s name,” cried Virginia, in an agony of 
desperation, for she saw the force of Hansford’s views, “ how 
can you shun this threatening danger ? Whither can you 
fly?” 

“ My only hope,” said Hansford, gloomily, “ is to leave 
the Colony and seek refuge in Maryland, though I fear that 


300 


THE DEVOTED BE IDE. 


this is hopeless. If I fail in this, then I must lurk in some 
hiding place until instructions from England may arrive, 
and check the vindictive Berkeley in his ruthless cruelty. ” 

“ And is there a hope of that ! ” said Virginia, quickly. 

“ There is a faint hope, and that slender thread is all 
that hangs between me and a traitor’s doom. But I rely 
with some confidence upon the mild and humane policy 
pursued by Charles toward the enemies of his father. At 
any rate, it is all that is left me, and you know the proverb,” 
he added, with a sad smile, “ * A drowning man catches at 
straws.’ Any chance, however slight, appears larger when 
seen through the gloom of approaching despair, just as any 
object seems greater when seen through a mist.” 

“ It is not, it shall not be slight,” said the hopeful girl, 
“ we will lay hold upon it with firm and trusting hearts, and 
it will cheer us in our weary way, and then — ” 

But here the conversation was interrupted by the sound 
of approaching footsteps, and the light, graceful form of 
Mamalis stood before them. The quick ear of the Indian 
girl had caught the first low notes of Hansford’s serenade, 
even while she slept, and listening attentively to the sound, 
she had heard Virginia leave the room and go down stairs. 
Alarmed at her prolonged absence, Mamalis could no 
longer hesitate on the propriety of ascertaining its cause, 
and hastily dressing herself, she ran down to the open door 
and joined the lovers as we have stated. 

“ We are discovered,” said Hansford, in a surprised but 
steady voice. “ Farewell, Virginia.” And he was about 
to rush from the place, when Virginia interposed. 

“ Fear nothing from her,” she said. " Her trained ear 
caught the sounds of our voices more quickly than could 
the duller senses of the European. You are in no danger; 
and her opportune presence suggests a plan for your 
escape.” 

“ What is that ?” asked Hansford, anxiously. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 301 

“ First tell me,” said Yirginia, “how long it will proba- 
bly be before the milder policy of Charles will arrest the 
Governor in his vengeance.” 

“ It is impossible to guess with accuracy — if, indeed, it 
ever should come. But the king has heard for some time 
of the suppression of the enterprise, and it can scarcely be 
more than two weeks before we hear from him. But to 
what does your question tend ?” 

“ Simply this,” returned Yirginia. “ The wigwam of 
Mamalis is only about two miles from the hall, and in so 
secluded a spot that it is entirely unknown to any of the 
Governor’s party. There we can supply your present 
wants, and give you timely warning of any approaching 
danger. The old wigwam is a good deal dilapidated, but 
then it will at least afford you shelter from the weather.” 

“ And from that ruder storm which threatens me,” said 
Hansford, gloomily. “ You are right. I know the place 
well, and trust it may be a safe retreat, at least for the 
present. But, alas ! how sad is my fate, — to be skulking 
from justice like a detected thief or murderer, afraid to show 
my face to my fellow in the open day, and starting like a 
frightened deer at every approaching sound. Oh, it is too 
horrible !” 

“ Think not of it thus,” said Yirginia, in an encouraging 
voice. “ Bemember it only as the dull twilight that 
divides tte night from the morning. This painful suspense 
will soon be over ; and then, safe and happy, we will smile 
at the dangers we have passed.” 

“ No, Yirginia,” said Hansford, in the same gloomy 
voice, “you are too hopeful. There is a whispering voice 
within that tells me that this plan will not succeed, and that 
we cannot avoid the dangers which threaten me. No,” he 
cried, throwing off the gloom which hung over him, while 
his fine blue eye flashed with pride. “ No ! The decree 
has gone forth ! Every truth must succeed with blood. 


302 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


If the blood of the martyrs be the seed of the Church, it 
may also enrich the soil where liberty must grow ; and far 
rather would I that my blood should be shed in such a 
cause, than that it should creep sluggishly in my veins 
through a long and useless life, until it clotted and stagnated 
in an ignoble grave.” 

“ Oh, there spoke that fearful pride again,” said Virginia, 
with a deep sigh ; “ the pride that pursues its mad career, 
unheeding prudence, unguided by judgment, until it is at 
last checked by its own destruction. And would you not 
sacrifice the glory that you speak of, for me ?” 

“ You have long since furnished me the answer to that 
plea, my girl,” he replied, pressing her tenderly to his 
heart. “ Do you remember, Lucasta, 

< I had not loved thee, dear, so much. 

Loved I not honour more/ 

Believe me, my Virginia, it is an honourable and not a 
glorious name I seek. Without the latter, life still would 
be happy and blessed when adorned by your smiles. With- 
out the former, your smile and your love would add bitter- 
ness to the cup that dishonour would bid me quaff. And 
now, Virginia, farewell. The night air has chilled you, 
dearest — then go, and remember me in your dreams. One 
fond kiss, to keep virgined upon my lips till w r e meet again. 
Farewell, Mamalis — be faithful to your kind mistress.” 
And then imprinting one long, last kiss upon the fair cheek 
of the trusting Virginia, he turned from the door, and was 
soon lost from their sight in the dense forest. 

Once more in her own little room, Virginia, with a grate- 
ful heart, fell upon her knees, and poured forth her thanks 
to Him, who had thus far prospered her endeavours to 
minister to the cares and sorrows of her lover. With a 
calmer heart she sought repose, and wept herself to sleep 
with almost happy tears. Hansford, in the mean time, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


303 


pursued his quiet way through the forest, his pathway 
sufficiently illumined by the pale moonlight, which came 
trembling through the moaning trees. The thoughts of the 
young rebel were fitfully gloomy or pleasant, as despon- 
dency and hope alternated in his breast. In that lonely 
walk he had an opportunity to reflect calmly and fully upon 
his past life. The present was indeed clouded with danger, 
and the future with uncertainty and gloom. Yet, in this 
self-examination, he saw nothing to justify reproach or to 
awaken regret. He scanned his motives, and he felt that 
they were pure. He reviewed his acts, and he saw in them 
but the struggles of a brave, free man in the maintenance 
of the right. The enterprise in which he had engaged had 
indeed failed, but its want of success did not affect the holi- 
ness of the design. Even in its failure, he proudly hoped 
that the seeds of truth had been sown in the popular mind, 
which might hereafter germinate and be developed into 
freedom. As these thoughts passed through his mind, a 
dim dream of the future glories of his country flashed 
across him. The bright heaven of the future seemed to 
open before him, as before the eyes of the dying Stephen — 
but soon it closed again, and - all was dark. 

The wigwam which he entered, after a walk of about 
half an hour, was desolate enough, but its very loneliness 
made it a better safeguard against the vigilance of his pur- 
suers. He closed the aperture which served for the door, 
with the large mat used for the purpose ; then carefully 
priming his pistols, which he kept constantly by him in case 
of surprise, and wrapping his rough horseman’s coat around 
him, he flung himself upon a mat in the centre of the wig- 
wam, and sank into a profound slumber. 


304 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XL. 

u He should be hereabouts. The doubling hare, 
When flying from the swift pursuit of hounds, 
Baying loud triumph, leaves her wonted path, 
And seeks security within her nest.” 

The Captive. 


On the evening which followed the events narrated in 
the last chapter, a party of half a dozen horsemen might be 
seen riding leisurely along the road which led to Windsor 
Hall. From their dress and bearing they might at once be 
recognized as military men, and indeed it was a detach- 
ment of the force sent by Sir William Berkeley in search 
of such of the rebels as might be lurking in different sec- 
tions of the country. At their head was Alfred Bernard, 
his tall and graceful form well set off by the handsome 
military dress of the period. Dignified by a captaincy of 
dragoons, the young intriguer at last thought himself on 
the high road to success, and his whole course was marked 
by a zealous determination to deserve by his actions the 
confidence reposed in him. For this his temper and his 
cold, selfish nature eminently fitted him. The vindictive 
Governor had no fear but that his vengeance would be 
complete, so long as Alfred Bernard acted as his agent. 

As the party approached the house, Colonel Temple, 
whose attention was arrested by such an unusual appear- 
ance in the then peaceful state of the country, came out to 
meet them, and with his usual bland courtesy invited them 
in, at the same time shaking Bernard warmly by the hand. 
The rough English soldiers, obeying the instructions of 
their host, conducted their horses to the stable, while the 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 


305 


young captain followed his hospitable entertainer into the 
hall. Around the blazing fire, which crackled and roared 
in the broad hearth, the little family were gathered to hear 
the news. 

“ Prythee, Captain Bernard, for I must not forget your 
new title,” said the colonel, “ what is the cause of this de- 
monstration ? No further trouble with the rebels?” 

“ No, no,” replied Bernard, “except to smoke the cow- 
ardly fellows out of their holes. In the words of your old 
bard, we have only scotched the snake, not killed it — and 
we are now seeking to bring the knaves to justice.” 

“And do you find them difficult to catch?” said the 
Colonel. “ Is the scotched snake an 1 anguis in herba V ” 

“ Aye, but they cannot escape us. These worshippers 
of liberty, who would fain be martyrs to her cause, shall 
not elude the vigilance of justice. I need not add, that 
you are not the object of our search, Colonel.” 

“ Scarcely, my lad,” returned Temple, with a smile, “for 
my mythology has taught me, that these kindred deities 
are so nearly allied that the true votaries of liberty will 
ever be pilgrims to the shrine of justice.” 

“ And the pseildo votaries of freedom,” continued Ber- 
nard, “who would divide the sister goddesses, should be 
offered up as a sacrifice to appease the neglected deity.” 

“Well, maybe so,” returned Temple; “but neither reli- 
gion nor government should demand human sacrifices to a 
great extent. A few of the prominent leaders might well 
be cut off to strike terror into the hearts of the rest. Thus 
the demands of justice would be' satisfied, consistently with 
clemency which mercy would dictate.” 

“ My dear sir, a hecatomb would not satisfy Berkeley. 
I am but his minister, and could not, if I would, arrest his 
arm. Even now I .come by his express directions to ascer- 
tain whether any of the rebels may be secreted near your 
residence. While he does not for a moment suspect your 
19 


30 *) THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

loyalty, yet one of the villains, and he among the foremost 
in the rebellion, has been traced in this direction.” 

“ Sir,” cried Temple, colouring with honest indignation ; 
/ “ dare you suspect that I could harbour a rebel beneath my 

roof ! But remember, that I would as lief do that, abhor- 
rent though it be to my principles, as to harbour a spy. ” 

“ My dear sir,” said Bernard, softly, “you mistake me 
most strangely, if you suppose that I could lodge such a 
suspicion for a moment in my heart ; nor have I come as a 
spy upon your privacy, but to seek your counsel. Sir 
William Berkeley is so well convinced of your stern and 
unflinching faith, that he enjoins me to apply to you early 
for advice as to how I should proceed in my duty.” 

“ Well, my dear boy,” said Temple, relapsing into good 
humour, for he was not proof against the tempting bait of 
flattery, “ you must pardon the haste of an old man, who 
cannot bear any imputation upon his devotion to the cause 
of his royal master. While I cannot aid you in your 
search, my house is freely open to yourself and your party 
for such time as you may think proper to use it.” 

“ You have my thanks, my dear sir,” said Bernard, “ and 
indeed you are entitled to the gratitude of the whole gov- 
ernment. Sir William Berkeley bade me say that he could 
never forget your kindness to him and his little band of 
fugitives ; and Lady Frances often says that she scarcely 
regrets the cares and anxiety attending her flight, since 
they afforded her an opportunity of enjoying the society of 
Mrs. Temple in her own home, where she so especially 
shines.” 

“ Indeed, we thank them both most cordially,” said Mrs. 
Temple. “ It was a real pleasure to us to have them, I 
am sure ; and though we hardly had time to make them as 
comfortable as they might have been, yet a poor feast, sea- 
soned with a warm welcome, is fit for a king.” 

“ I trust,” said Bernard, “that Miss Virginia unites with 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 307 

you in the interest which you profess in the cause of loyalty. 
May I hope, that should it ever be our fortune again to 
be thrown like stranded wrecks upon your hospitality, her 
welcome will not be wanting to our happiness. ” 

" It will always give me pleasure,” said Virginia, “ to 
welcome the guests of my parents, and to add, as far as I 
can, to their comfort, whoever, they may be — more particu- 
larly when those guests are among my own special friends.” 

“ Of which number I am proud to consider myself, 
though unworthy of such an honour,” said Bernard. “ But 
excuse me for a few moments, ladies, I have somewhat to 
say to my sergeant before dinner. I will return anon — as 
soon as possible ; but you know, Colonel, duty should ever 
be first served, and afterwards pleasure may be indulged. 
Duty is the prim old wife, who must be duly attended to, 
and then Pleasure, the fair young damsel, may claim her 
share of our devotion. Aye, Colonel ?” 

“ Nay, if you enter the marriage state with such ideas of 
its duties as that,” returned the Colonel, smiling, “ I rather 
think you will have a troublesome career before you. But 
your maxim is true, though clothed in an allegory a little 
too licentious. So, away with you, my boy, and return as 
soon as you can, for I have much to ask you.” 

Released from the restraints imposed by the presence of 
the Colonel and the ladies, Bernard rubbed his hands and 
chuckled inwardly as he went in search of his sergeant. 

“ I am pretty sure we are on the right scent, Holliday,” 
he said, addressing a tall, strapping old soldier of about six 
feet in height. “ This prejudiced old steed seemed disposed 
to kick before he was spurred— and, indeed, if he knew 
nothing himself, there is a pretty little hind here, who I’ll 
warrant is not so ignorant of the hiding-place of her young 
hart.” 

“ But I tell you what, Cap’n, it’s devilish hard to worm 
a secret out of these women kind. They’ll tell any body 


308 THE DEVOTET) BRIDE. 

else’s secret, fast enough, but d — n me if it don’t seem as how 
they only do that to give more room to keep their own.” 

“Well, we must try at any rate. ' It is not for you to 
oppose with your impertinent objections what I may choose 
order. I hope you are soldier enough to have learned that 
it is only your duty to obey.” 

“ Oh 1 yes, Cap’n. I’ve learned that lesson long ago — 
and what’s more, I learned it on horseback, but, faith, it 
was one of those wooden steeds that made me do all the 
travelling. Why, Lord bless me, to obey I It’s one of 
my ten commandments. I’ve got it written in stripes 
that’s legible on my shoulders now. ‘ Obey your officers 
in all things that your days may be long and your b.'ick 
unskinned.’ ” 

“Well, stop your intolerable nonsense,” said Bernard, 
“and hear what I would say. We stay here to-night. 
There is an Indian girl who lives here, a kind of upper 
servant. You must manage to see her and talk with her. 
But mind,* nothing of our object, or your tongue shall be 
blistered for it. Tell ker that I wish to see her, beneath 
the old oak tree to night, at ten o’clock. If she refuses, 
tell her to ‘remember Berkenhead.’ These words will act 
as a charm upon her. Remember — Hush, here comes the 
Colonel.” 

It will be remembered by the reader that the magic of 
these two words, which were to have such an influence upon 
the young Mamalis, was due to the shrewd suspicion of 
Alfred Bernard, insinuated at the time, that she was the 
assassin of the ill-fated Berkenhead. By holding this simple 
rod, in terrorem, over the poor girl, Bernard now saw that 
he might wield immense power over her, and if the secret 
of Hansford’s hiding-place had been confided to her, he 
might easily extort it either by arousing her vengeance once 
more, or in default of that by a menace of exposure and 
punishment for the murder. But first he determined to see 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 309 

Virginia, and make his peace with her ; and under the 
plausible guise of sympathy in her distress and pity for 
Hansford, to excite in her an interest in his behalf, even 
while he was plotting the ruin of her lover. 

With his usual pliancy of manner, and control over his 
feelings, he engaged in conversation with Colonel Temple, 
humouring the well-known prejudices of the old gentleman, 
and by a little dexterous flattery winning over the unsus- 
picious old lady to his favor. Even Virginia, though her 
heart misgave her from the first that the arrival of Bernard 
boded no good to her lover, was deceived by his plausible 
manners and attracted by his brilliant conversation. So 
the tempter, with the graceful crest, and beautiful colours 
of the subtle serpent beguiled Eve far more effectually, 
than if in his own shape he had attempted to convince her 
by the most specious sophisms. 


. CHAPTER XLI. 

tl Was ever woman in this humour wooed V* 

Richard III. 

Dinner being over, the gentlemen remained according 
to the good old custom, to converse over their wine, while 
Virginia retired to Hie quiet little parlour, and with some 
favourite old author tried to beguile her thoughts from the 
bitter fears which she felt for the safety of Hansford. But it 
wa3 all in vain. Her eyes often wandered from her book, and 
fixed upon the blazing, hickory fire, she was lost in a painful 
reverie. As she weighed in her mind the many chances in 
favour of, and against his escape, she turned in her trouble 


810 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


to Him, who alone could rescue her, and with the tears 
streaming down her pale cheeks, she murmured in bitter 
accents, “ Oh, Lord ! in Thee have I trusted, let me never 
be confounded.” Even while she spoke, she was surprised 
to hear immediately behind her, the well-known voice of 
Alfred Bernard, for so entirely lost had she been in medi- 
tation that she had not heard his step as he entered the 
room. 

“ Miss Temple, and in tears 1” he said, with well assumed 
surprise. “ What can have moved you thus, Yirginia ?” 

“ Alas ! Mr. Bernard, you who have known my history 
and my troubles for the last few bitter months, cannot be 
ignorant that I have much cause for sadness. But,” she 
added, with a faint attempt to smile, “ had I known of your 
presence, I would not have sought to entertain you with 
my sorrows.” 

“ The troubles that you speak of are passed, Miss Tem- 
ple,” said Bernard, affecting to misunderstand her, “ and as 
the Colony begins to smile again in the beams of returning 
peace, you, fair Yirginia, should also smile in sympathy 
with your namesake.” 

“Mr. Bernard, you must jest. You at least should have 
known, ere this, that my individual sorrows are not so 
dependent upon the political condition of the Colony. You 
at least should have known, sir, that the very peace you 
boast of may be the knell of hopes more dear to a woman’s 
heart than even the glory and welfare of her country.” 

“ Miss Temple,” returned Bernard, with a grave voice, 
“ since you are determined to treat seriously what I have 
said, I will change my tone. Though you choose to doubt 
my sincerity, I must express the deep sympathy which I 
feel in your sorrows, even though I know that these sorrows 
are induced by your apprehensions for the fate of a rival.” 

“ And that sympathy, sir, is illustrated by your present 
actions,” said Yirginia, bitterly. “You would be at the 


I 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 311 

same time the Judean robber and the good Samaritan, and 
while inflicting a deadly wound upon your victim, and strip- 
ping him of cherished hopes, you would administer the oil 
and wine of your mocking sympathy. ” 

“ I might choose to misunderstand your unkind allusions, 
Miss Temple,” replied Bernard, “but there is no need of 
concealment between us. You have rightly judged the 
object of my mission, but in this I act as the officer of 
government, not as the ungenerous rival of Major Hansford.” 

“ So does the public executioner,” replied Virginia, “but 
I am not aware that in its civil and military departments 
as well as in the navy, our government impresses men into 
her service against their will.” 

“You seem determined to misunderstand me, Virginia,” 
said Alfred, with some warmth ; “ but you shall learn that 
I am not capable of the want of generosity which you 
attribute to me. Know then, that it was from a desire to 
serve you personally through your friend, that I urged the 
governor to let me come in pursuit of Major Hansford. 
Suppose, instead, he should fall in the hands of Beverley. 
Cruel and relentless as that officer has already shown him- 
self to be, his prisoner would suffer every indignity and per- 
secution, even before he was delivered to the tender mercies 
of Sir William Berkeley — while in me, as his captor, you 
may rest assured that for your sake, he would meet with 
kindness and indulgence, and even my warm mediation with 
the governor in his behalf.” 

“ Oh, then,” cried Virginia, trusting words so softly and 
plausibly spoken, “if you are indeed impelled by a motive 
so generous and disinterested, it is still in your power to 
save him. Your influence with the Governor is known, 
and one word from your lips might control the fate of a 
brave man, and restore happiness and peace to a broken- 
hearted girl. Oh ! would not this amply compensate even 
for the neglect of duty? Would it not be far nobler to 

\ 


312 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


secure the happiness of two grateful hearts, than to 3hed 
the blood of a brave and generous man, and to wade 
through that red stream to success and fame ? Believe 
me, Mr. Bernard, when you come to die, the recollection 
of such an act will be sweeter to your soul than all the 
honour and glory which an admiring posterity could heap 
above your cold, insensate ashes. If I am any thing to 
you; if my happiness would be an object of interest to 
your heart; and if my love, my life-long love, would be 
worthy of your acceptance, they are yours. Forgive the 
boldness, the freedom with which I have spoken. It may 
be unbecoming in a young girl, but let it be another proof 
of the depth, the sincerity of my feelings, when I can forget 
a maiden’s delicacy in the earnestness of my plea.” 

It. was impossible not to be moved with the earnest and 
touching manner of the weeping girl, as with clasped hands 
and streaming eyes, she almost knelt to Bernard in the 
fervent earnestness of her feelings. Machiavellian as he 
was, and accustomed to disguise his heart, the young man 
was for a moment almost dissuaded from his design. 
Taking Virginia gently by the hand, he begged her to be 
calm. But the feeling of generosity which for a moment 
gleamed on his heart, like a brief sunbeam on a stormy 
day, gave way to the wonted selfishness with which that 
heart was clouded. 

“ And can you still ' cling with such tenacity to a man 
who has proven himself so unworthy of you,” he said ; “ to 
one who has long since sacrificed you to his own fanatical 
purposes. Even should he escape the fate which awaits 
him, he can never be yours. Your own independence of 
feeling, your father’s prejudices, every thing conspires to 
prevent a union so unnatural. Hansford may live, but he 
can never live to be your husband.” 

“ Who empowered you to prohibit thus boldly the bans 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 313 

between us, and to dissolve our plighted troth ?” said Vir- 
ginia, with indignation. 

“ You again mistake me,” replied Bernard. “ God for- 
bid that I should thus intrude upon what surely concerns 
me not. I only expressed, my dear friend, what you know 
full well, that whatever be the fate of Major Hansford, you 
can never marry him. Why, then, this strange interest in 
his fate ?” 

“ And can you think thus of woman’s love ? Can you 
suppose that her heart is so selfish that, because her own 
cherished hopes are blasted, she can so soon forget and 
coldly desert one who has first awakened those sweet 
hopes, and who is now in peril ? Believe me, Mr. Ber- 
nard, dear as I hold that object to my soul, sad and weary 
as life would be without one who had made it so happy, I 
would freely, aye, almost cheerfully yield his love, and be 
banished for ever from his presence, if I could but save his 
life.” 

“You are a noble girl,” said Alfred, with admiration; 
“and teach me a lesson that too few have learned, that 
love is never selfish. But, yet, I cannot relinquish the 
sweet reward which you have promised for my efforts in 
behalf of Hansford. Then tell me once more, dear girl, if 
I arrest the hand of justice which now threatens his life; 
if he be once more restored to liberty and security, would 
you reward his deliverer with your love ?” 

“Oh, yes !” cried the trusting girl, mistaking his mean- 
ing; “and more, I would, pledge his lasting gratitude and 
affection to his generous preserver.” ' 

“Nay,” said Bernard, rather coldly, “that would not 
add much inducement to me. But you,” Virginia,” he 
added, passionately, “ would you be mine — would the 
bright dream of my life be indeed realized, and might I 
enshrine you in my faithful heart, as a sacred idol, to 
whom in hourly adoration I might bow ?” 


314 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ IIow mean you, sir,” exclaimed Virginia, with surprise 
“ I fear you have misunderstood my words. My love, my 
gratitude, my friendship, I promised, but not my heart.” 

“ Then, indeed, am I strangely at fault,” said Bernard, 
with a sneering la, ugh. “ The love you would bestow, 
would be such as you would feel towards the humblest 
boor, who had done you a service ; and your gratitude but 
the natural return which any human being would make to 
the dog who saves his life. Nay, mistress mine, not so 
platonic, if you please. Think yt>u that, for so cold a 
feeling as friendship and gratitude, I would rescue this 
skulking hound from the lash' of his master, which he so 
richly deserves, or from the juster doom of the craven cur, 
the rope and gallows. No, Virginia Temple, there is no 
longer any need of mincing matters between us. It is a 
simple question of bargain and sale. You have said that 
you would renounce the love of Hansford to save his 
life. Very well, one step more and all is accomplished. 
The boon I ask, as the reward of my services, is your 
heart, or at least your hand. Yield but this, and I will 
arrest the malice of that doting old knight, who, with his 
fantastic tricks, has made the angels laugh instead of weep. 
Deny me, and by my troth, Thomas Hansford meets a 
traitor’s doom.” 

So complete was the revulsion of feeling from the almost 
certainty of success, to the despair and indignation induced 
by so base a proposition, that it was some moments before 
Virginia Temple could speak. Bernard mistaking the 
cause of her silence, deemed that she was hesitating as to 
her course, and pursuing his supposed advantage, he added, 
tenderly, — “ Cheer, up Virginia ; cheer up, my bride. I 
read in those silent tears your answer. I know the strug- 
gle is hard, and I love you the more that it is so. It is an 
earnest of your future constancy. In a short time the trial 
will be over, and we will learn to forget our sorrows in our 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


815 


love. He who is so unworthy of you will have sought in 
some distant land solace for your loss, which will be easily 
attained by his pliant nature. A traitor to his country, 
will not long mourn the loss of his bride ” 

“ ’Tis thou who art the traitor, dissembling hypocrite,” 
cried Virginia, vehemently. “ Think you that my silence 
arose from a moment’s consideration of your base proposi- 
tion ? I was stunned at beholding such a monster in the 
human form. But I defy you yet. The governor si all 
learn how the fawning favourite of his palace, tears the 
hand that feeds him — and those who can protect me from 
your power, shall chastise your insolence. Instead of the 
love and gratitude I promised, there, take my lasting hate 
and scorn.” 

And the young girl proudly rising erect as she spoke, 
her eyes flashing, but tearless, her bosom heaving with in- 
dignation, her nostrils dilated, and her hand extended in 
bitter contempt towards the astonished Bernard, shouted, 
“Father, father 1” until the hall rung with the sound. 

Happily for Alfred Bernard, Colonel Temple and his 
wife had left the house for a few moments, on a visit to old 
Giles 1 cabin, the old man having been laid up with a vio- 
lent attack of the rheumatics. The wily intriguer was for 
once caught in his own springe. He had overacted his 
part, and had grossly mistaken the character of the brave 
young girl, whom he had so basely insulted. He felt that 
if he lost a moment, the house would be alarmed, and his 
miserable hypocrisy exposed. Rushing to Virginia, he 
whispered, in an agitated voice, which he failed to control 
with his usual self-command, 

“ For God’s sake, be silent. I acknowledge I have done 
wrong ; but I will explain. Remember Hansford’s life is 
in your hands. Come, now, dear Virginia, sit you down, 
I will save him.” 

The proud expression of scorn died away from the curled 


816 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


lips of the girl, and interest in her lover’s fate again took 
entire possession of her heart. She paused and listened. 
The wily Jesuit had again conquered, and He who rules 
the universe with such mysterious justice, had permitted 
evil once more to triumph over innocence. 

“ Yes,” repeated Bernard, regaining his composure with 
his success; “I will save him. I mistook your character, 
Miss Temple. I had thought you the simple-hearted girl, 
v ho for the sake of her lover’s life would sell her heart to 
his preserver. I now recognize in you the high-spirited 
woman, who, conscious of right, would meet her own des- 
pair in its defence. Alas 1 in thus losing you for ever, I 
have just found you possessed of qualities which make you 
doubly worthy to be won. But I resign you to him whom 
you have chosen, and in my admiration for the woman, I 
have almost lost my hatred for the man. For your sake, 
Miss Temple, Major Hansford shall not want my warm 
interposition with the Governor in his behalf. Let my 
reward be your esteem or your contempt, it is still my 
duty thus to atone for the wound which I have unfortu- 
nately inflicted on your feelings. You will excuse and 
respect my wish to end this painful interview.” 

And so he left the room, and Yirginia once more alone, 
gave vent to her emotions so long suppressed, in a flood 
of bitter tears. 

“Well, Holliday,” said Bernard, as he met that worthy 
in the hall, “I hope you have been more fortunate with the 
red heifer than I with the white hind — what says Mamalis V 

“ The fact is, Cap’n, that same heifer is about as trouble- 
some a three year old as I ever had the breaking on. Sim 
seemed bent on hooking me.” 

“Did you not make use of the talisman I told you of?” 
asked Bernard. 

“ Well, I don’t know what you call a tell-us-man,” said 
Holliday, “ but I told her that you said she must remember 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


317 


Buekinliead, and I’ll warrant it was tell-us-woman soon 
enough. Bless me, if she didn’t most turn white, for all 
her red skin, and she got the trimbles so that I began to 
think she was going to have the high-strikes — and so says 
she at last; says she, in kind of choking voice like, ‘Well, 
tell him I will meet him under the oak tree, as he wishes.’ ” 

“ Yery well,” said Bernard, “we will succeed yet, and 
then your hundred pounds are made — my share is yours 
already if you be but faithful to me — I am convinced he 
has been here,” he continued, musing, and half unconscious 
of Holliday’s presence. “ The hopeful interest that Vir- 
ginia feels, her knowledge of the fact that he still lives and 
is at large, and the apprehensions which mingle with her 
hopes, all convince me that I’m on the right track. Well, 
I’ll spoil a pretty love affair yet, before it approaches its 
consummation. Bine girl, too, and a pity to victimize her. 
Bless me, how majestic she looked ; with what a queen-like 
scorn she treated me, the cold, insensate intriguer, as they 
call me. I begin to love her almost as much as I love her 
land — but, beware, Alfred Bernard, love might betray you. 
My game is a bold and desperate one, but the stake for 
which I play repays the risk. By God, I’ll have her yet; 
she shall learn to bow her proud head, and to love me too 
. — and then the fair fields of Windsor Hall will not be less 
fertile for the price which I pay for them in a rival’s blood 

and such a rival. He scorned and defied me when the 

overtures of peace were extended to him ; let him look to 
it, that in rejecting the olive, he has not planted the cypress 
in its stead. Thus revenge is united with policy in the 
attainment of my object, and— What are you staring at, 
you gaping idiot?” he cried, seeing the big, pewter 
coloured eyes of Holliday fixed upon him in mute aston- 
ishment. 

“ Why, Cap’n, damme if I don’t believe you are talking 
in your sleep with your eyes open.” 


318 


the devoted bride. 


“And what did you hear me say, knave ?” 

“ Oh, nothing that will ever go the farther for my hearing 
it. It’s all one to me whether you’re working for your 
country or yourself in this matter, so long as my pretty 
pounds are none the less heavy and safe.” 

“ I’m working for both, you fool,” returned Bernard. 
“ Did you ever know a general or a patriot who did not 
seek to serve himself as well as his country ?” 

“Well, no,” retorted the soldier, “for what the world 
calls honour, and what the rough soldier calls money, is at 
last only different kinds of coin of the same metal.” 

“ Well, hush your impudence,” said Bernard, “ and mind, 
not a word of what you have heard, or you shall feel my 
power as well as others. In the meantime, here is a golden 
key to lock your lips,” and he handed the fellow a sovereign, 
which he greedily accepted. 

“ Thank you, Cap’n,” said Holliday, touching his hat 
and pocketing the money ; “ you need not be afraid of me, 
f<?r I’ve seen tricks in my time worth two of that. And 
for the matter of taking this yellow boy, which might look 
to some like hush-money, the only difference between the 
patriot and me is, that he gets paid for opening his mouth, 
and I for keeping mine shut.” 

“ You are a saucy knave,” said Bernard, reassured by 
the fellow’s manner; “and I’ll warrant you never served 
under old Noll’s Puritan standard. But away with you, 
and remember to be in place at ten o’clock to-night, and 
come to me at this signal,” and he gave a shrill whistle, 
which Holliday promised to understand and obey. 

And so they separated, Bernard to while away the tedious 
hours, by conversing with the old Colonel, and by endea- 
vouring to reinstate himself in the good opinion of Vir- 
ginia, while Holliday repaired to the kitchen, where, in 
company with his comrades and the white servants of the 
hall, he emptied about a half gallon of brown October ale. 


T H K D K V O T K D BKIDH. 


819 


CHAPTER XLII. 

u He sat her on a milk-white steed, 

And himself upon a grey ; 

He never turned his face again, 

But he bore her quite away.” 

The Knight of the Burning Pestle. 

“ Oh, woe is me for Gerrard ! I have brought 
Confusion on the noblest gentleman 
That ever truly loved.” 

The Triumph of Love. 


The night, though only starry, was scarce less lovely for 
the absence of the moon. So bright ifideed was the milky 
way, the white girdle, with which the night adorns her 
azure robe, that you might almost imagine the moon had 
not disappeared, but only melted and diffused itself in the 
milder radiance of that fair circlet. 

As was always the custom in the country, the family had 
retired at an early hour, and Bernard quietly left the 
house to fulfil his engagement with Mamalis. They stood, 
he and the Indian girl, beneath the shade of the old oak, 
so often mentioned in the preceding pages. With his 
handsome Spanish cloak of dark velvet plush, thrown grace- 
fully over his shoulders, his hat looped up and fastened in 
front with a gold button, after the manner of the times, 
Alfred Bernard stood with folded arms, irresolute as to 
how he should commence a conversation so important, and 
requiring such delicate address. Mamalis stood before him, 
with that air of nameless but matchless grace so peculiar 
to those, who unconstrained by the arts and affectations of 
society, assnme the attitude of ease and beauty which nature 


320 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


can alone suggest. She watched him with a look of eager- 
ness, anxious on her part for the silence to be broken, that 
she might learn the meaning and the object of this strange 
interview. 

Alfred Bernard was too skilful an intriguer to broach 
abruptly the subject which most absorbed his thoughts, and 
which had made him seek this interview, and when at last 
he spoke, Mamalis was at* a loss to guess what there was in 
the commonplaces which he used, that could be of interest 
to him. But the wily hypocrite led her on step by step, 
until gradually and almost unconsciously to herself he had 
fully developed his wishes. 

“ You live here altogether, now, do you not ?” he asked, 
kindly. 

“Yes.” 

“ Are they kind to you ?” 

“ Oh yes, they are kind to all.” 

“ And you are happy ?” 

“Yes, as happy as those can be who are left alone on 
earth.” 

“ What ! are there none of your family now living 

“No, no !” she replied, bitterly ; “the blood of Powha- 
tan now runs in this narrow channel,” and she held out her 
graceful arms, as she spoke, with .an expressive gesture. 

“Alas! I pity you,” said Bernard, sighing. “We are 
alike in this — for my blood is reduced to as narrow a chan- 
nel as your own. But your family was very numerous ?” 

“Yes, numerous as those stars — and bright and beautiful 
as they. ” 

“Judging from the only Pleiad that remains,” thought 
Bernard, “you may well say so — and can you,” he added, 
aloud, “ forgive those who have thus injured you ?” 

“ Forgive, oh yes, or how shall I be forgiven ! Look 
at those stars ! They shine the glory of the night. They 
vanish before the sun of the morning. So faded my people 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 321 

before the arms of the white man — and yet I can freely 
forgive them all 1” 

“ What, even those who have quenched those stars 1” 
said Bernard, with a sinister meaning in his tone. 

“You mistake,” replied Mamalis, touchingly. “ They 
are not quenched. The stars we see to-night, though un- 
seen on the morrow, are still in heaven.” 

“Nay, Mamalis,” said Bernard, “the creed of your" 
fathers taught not thus. I thought the Indian maxim was 
that blood alone could wipe out the stain of blood.” 

“ I love the Christian lesson better,” said Mamalis, softly. 
u And you, Mr. Bernard, should not try to shake my new 
born faith. * Love your enemies — bless them that curse 
you— pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute 
you — that you may be the children of your Father which is 
in heaven. ’ The orphan girl on earth would love to be the 
child of her father in heaven.” 

The sweet simplicity with which the poor girl thus 
referred to the precepts and promises of her new religion, 
derived more touching beauty from the broken English 
with which she expressed them. An attempt to describe her 
manner and accent would be futile, and would detract from 
the simple dignity and sweetness with which she uttered 
the words. We leave the reader from his own imagination 
to fill up the picture which we can only draw in outline. 
Bernard saw and felt the power of religion in the heart of 
this poor savage, and he hesitated what course he should 
pursue. He knew that her strongest feeling in life had 
been her affection for her brother. That had been the 
chord which earliest vibrated in her heart, and which as 
her heart expanded only increased in tension that added 
greater sweetness to its tone. It was on this broken string, 
so rudely snapped asunder, that he resolved to play — 
hoping thus to strike some harsh and discordant notes in 
her gentle heart. 


322 THE DEVOTED x»RIDE. 

l 

“ You had a brother, Mamalis,” he said, abruptly ; “the 
voice of jour brother’s blood calls to you from the ground.” 

“ My brother 1” shrieked the girl, startled by the sudden- 
ness *of the allusion. 

“Aye, your murdered brother,” said Bernard, marking 
with pleasure the effect he had produced, “and it is in your 
power to avenge his death. Dare you do it ?” 

“ Oh, my brother, my poor lost brother,” she sobbed, 
the stoical indifference of the savage, pressed out by the 
crushed heart of the sister, “ if by this hand thy death 
could be avenged.” 

“By your hand he can be avenged,” said Bernard, seeing 
her pause. “It has not yet been done. That stupid 
knave, in a moment of vanity, claimed for himself the praise 
of having murdered a chieftain, but the brave Manteo fell 
by more noble hands than his.” 

“In God’s name, who do you mean ?” asked Mamalis. 

“ I can only tell you that it is now in your power to 
surrender his murderer to justice, and to his deserved fate.” 

Mamalis was silent. She guessed that it was Hans- 
ford to whom Bernard had thus vaguely alluded. The 
struggle seemed to be a desperate one. There in the clear 
starlight, with none to help, save He, in whom she had 
learned to trust, she wrestled with the tempter. But that 
dark scene of her life, which still threw its shadow on her 
redeemed heart, again rose up before her memory. The 
lesson was a blessed one. How often thus does the recol- 
lection of a former sin guard the soul from error in the 
future. Surely, in this, too, God has made the wrath of 
man to praise him. With the aid thus given from on high, 
the trusting soul of Mamalis triumphed over temptation. 

“I know not why you tempt me thus, Mr. Bernard,” she 
said, more calmly, “ nor why you have brought me here to- 
night. But this I know, that I have learned that ven- 
geance belongs to God. It were a crime for morta! man, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. ' 323 

frail at best, to usurp the right of God. My brother is 
already fearfully avenged .’ 5 

Twice beaten in his attempt to besiege the strong heart 
of the poor Indian, by stratagem, the wily Bernard deter- 
mined to pursue a more determined course, and to take the 
resisting citadel by a coup d’etat. He argued, and argued 
rightly, that a sudden charge would surprise her into 
betraying a knowledge of Hansford’s' movements. No 
sooner, therefore, had the last words fallen from her lips, 
than he seized her roughly by the arm, and exclaimed, 

“So you, then, with all your religious cant, are the mur- 
deress of Thomas Hansford!” 

“ The murderess ! Of Hansford ! Is he then dead,” 
cried the girl, bewildered by the sudden charge, “ How did 
they find him ?” 

“Find him !” cried Bernard, triumphantly, “It is easy 
finding what we hide ourselves. We have proven that you 
alone are aware of his hiding place, and you alone, there- 
fore, are responsible for his safety. It was for this confes- 
sion that I brought you here to-night.” 

“ So help me Heaven,” said the trembling girl, terrified 
by the web thus woven around her, “ If he be dead, I am 
innocent of his death.” 

“ The assassin of Berkenhead may well be the murderess 
of Hansford,” said Bernard. “ It is easier to deny than to 
prove. Come, my mistress, tell me when you saw him.” 

“Oh, but this morning, safe and well,” said Mamalis. 
“ Indeed, my hand is guiltless of his blood.” 

“Prove it, then, if you can,” returned Bernard. “You 
must know our English law presumes him guilty, who is 
last with the murdered person, unless he can prove his in- 
nocence. Show me Hansford alive, and you are safe. If 
I do not see him by sunrise, you go with me to answer for 
his death, and to learn that your accursed race is not the 
only people who demand blood for blood.” 


324 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 


Overawed by his threats, and his stern manner, so dif- 
ferent from the mild and respectful tone in which he had 
hitherto addressed her, Mamalis sank upon the ground in 
an agony of alarm. Bernard disregarded her meek and 
silent appeal for mercy, and sternly menaced her when she 
attempted to scream for assistance. 

“ Hush your savage shrieking, you bitch, or you’ll wake 
the house ; and then, by God, I’ll choke you before your 
time. I tell you, if the man is alive, you need fear no 
danger ; and if he be dead, you have only saved the sheriff 
a piece of dirty work, or may be have given him another 
victim.” 

“ For God’s sake, do me no harm,” cried Mamalis, 
imploringly. “ I am innocent — indeed I am. Think you 
that I would hurt a hair of the head of that man whom 
Virginia Temple loves ?” 

This last remark was by no means calculated to make her 
peace with Bernard ; but his only reply was by the shrill 
whistle which had been agreed upon as a signal between 
Holliday and himself. True to his promise, and obedient 
to the command of his superior, the soldier made his 
appearance on the scene of action with a promptitude that 
could only be explained by the fact that he had concealed 
himself behind a corner of the house, and had heard every 
word of the conversation. Too much excited to be sus- 
picious, Bernard did not remark on his punctuality, but 
said, in a low voice : 

“Go wake Thompson, saddle the horses, and let’s be off. 
We have work before us. Go !” And Holliday, with 
habitual obedience, retired to execute the order. 

“ And now,” said Bernard, in an encouraging tone, to 
Mamalis, “ you must go with me. But you have nothing 
to fear, if Hansford be alive. If, however, my suspicions 
be true, and he has been murdered by your hand, I will still 
be your friend, if you be but faithful.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 325 

The horses were quickly brought, and Bernard, half lead- 
ing, half carrying the poor, weeping, trembling maiden, 
mounted his own powerful charger, and placed her behind 
him. The order of march was soon given, and the heavy 
sound of the horses’ feet was heard upon the hard, crisp, 
frozen ground. Mamalis, seeing her fate inevitable, what- 
ever it might be, awaited it patiently and without a mur- 
mur. Never suspecting the true motive of Bernard, and 
fully believing that he was bona fide engaged in searching 
for the perpetrators of some foul deed, she readily con- 
sented, for her own defence, to conduct the party to the 
hiding place of the hapless Hansford. Surprised and 
shocked beyond measure at the intelligence of his fate, she 
almost forgot her own situation in her concern for him, and 
was happy in aiding to bring to justice those who, as she 
feared, had murdered him. She was surprised, indeed, that 
she had heard nothing of the circumstance from Virginia, 
as she would surely have done, had Bernard mentioned it to 
the family. But in her ignorance of the rules of civilized 
life, she attributed this to the forms of procedure, to the 
necessity for secrecy — to anything rather than the true 
cause. Nor could she help hoping that there might be still 
some mistake, and that Hansford would be found alive and 
well, thus establishing her own innocence, and ending the 
pursuit. 

Arrived nearly at the wigwam, she mentioned the fact to 
Bernard, who in a low voice commanded a halt, and dis- 
mounting with his men, he directed Mamalis to guide them 
the remaining distance on foot. Leaving Thompson in 
charge of the horses, until he might be called to their 
assistance, Bernard and Holliday silently followed the 
unsuspecting Indian girl along the narrow path. A short 
distance ahead, they could discern the faint smoke, as 
it curled through the opening at the top of the wigwam 
and floated towards the sky. This indication rendered it 


326 


THE DEVOTED BEIDE. 


probable that the object of their search was still watching, 
and thus warned them to greater caution in their approach. 
Bernard’s heart beat thick and loud, and his cheek blanched 
with excitement, as he thus drew near the lurking place of 
his enemy. He shook Holliday by the arm with impatient 
anger, as the heavy-footed soldier jarred the silence by the 
crackling of fallen leaves and branches. And now they are 
almost there, and Mamalis, whose excitement was also 
intense, still in advance, saw through a crevice in the door 
the kneeling form of the noble insurgent, as he bowed him- 
self by that lonely fire, and committed his weary soul to 
God. 

“ He is here ! he lives 1” she shouted. “ I knew that he 
was safe 1” and the startled forest rang with the echoes of 
her voice. 

“ The murder is out,” cried Bernard, as followed by 
Holliday, he rushed forward to the door, which had been 
thrown open by their guide ; but ere he gained his entrance, 
the sharp report of a pistol was beard, and the beautiful, 
the trusting Mamalis fell prostrate on the floor, a bleeding 
martyr to her constancy and faith. Hansford, roused by 
the sudden sound of her voice, had seized the pistol which, 
sleeping and waking, was by his side, and hearing the voice 
of Bernard, he had fired. Had the ball taken effect upon 
either of the men, he might yet have been saved, for in an 
encounter with a single man he would have proved a for- 
midable adversary. But inscrutable are His ways, whose 
thoughts are not as our thoughts, and all that the puzzled 
soul can do, is humbly to rely on the hope that 

“ God is his own interpreter, 

And he will make it plain.” 


And she, the last of her dispersed and ruined lineage, is 
gone. In the lone forest, where the wintry blast swept 
unobstructed, the giant trees moaned sadly and fitfully over 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


327 


their bleeding child : and the bright stars, that saw the 
heavy deed, wept from their place in heaven, and bathed 
her lovely form in night’s pure dews. She did not long 
remain unburied in that forest, for when Virginia heard the 
story of her faith and loyalty from the rude lips of Holli- 
day, the pure form of the Indian girl, still fresh and free 
from the polluting touch of the destroyer, was borne to her 
own home, and followed with due rites and fervent grief to 
the quiet tomb. In after days, when her sad heart loved to 
dwell upon these early scenes, Virginia placed above the 
sacred ashes of her friend a simple marble tablet, long since 
itself a ruin ; and there, engraven with the record of her 
faith, her loyalty and her love, was the sweet assurance, 
that in her almost latest words, the trusting Indian girl had 
indeed become one of “ the children of her Father which is 
in Heaven.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

“ Let some of the guard be ready there. 

For me ? 

Must I go like a traitor thither ?” 

Henry VIII. 

The reader need not be told that Hansford, surprised 
and unarmed, for his remaining pistol was not at hand, 
and his sword had been laid aside for the night, was no 
match for the two powerful men who now rushed upon 
him. To pinion his arms closely behind him, was the work 
of a moment, and further resistance was impossible. See- 
ing that all hope of successful- defence was gone, Hansford 
maintained in his bearing the resolute fortitude and firm- 


328 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

ness which can support a brave man in misfortune, when 
active courage is no longer of avail. 

“ I suppose, I need not ask Mr. Bernard,” he said, “ by 
what authority he acts — and yet I would be glad to learn 
for what offence I am arrested.” 

“ The memory of your former acts should teach you,” 
returned Bernard, coarsely, “ that your offence is reckoned 
among the best commentators of the law as high treason.” 

“A grievous crime, truly,” replied Hansford, “but one 
of which I am happily innocent, unless, indeed, a skirmish 
with the hostile Indians should be reckoned as such, or Sir 
William Berkeley should be presumptuous enough to claim 
to be a king ; in which latter case, he himself would be the 
traitor.” 

“ He is at least the deputy of the king,” said Bernard, 
haughtily, “ and in his person the majesty of the king has 
been assailed.” 

“Unfortunately, for your reasoning,” replied Hansford, 
“ the term for which Berkeley was appointed governor has 
expired some years since.” 

“ That miserable subterfuge will scarcely avail, since you 
tacitly acknowledged his authority by acting under his com- 
mission. But I have no time to be discussing with you on 
the nature of your offence, of which, at least, I am not the 
judge. I will only add, that conscious innocence is not 
found skulking in dark forests, and obscure hiding places. 
Call Thompson, with the horses, Holliday. It is time we 
were off.” 

“ One word, before we leave,” said Hansford, sadly. 
“ My pistol ball took effect, I know ; who is its victim ?” 

“A poor Indian girl, who conducted us to your fast- 
ness,” said Bernard. “ I had forgotten her myself, till 
now. Look, Holliday, does she still live ?” 

“Head as a herring, your honour,” said the man, as he 
bent over the body, with deep feeling, for, though accus- 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


329 


tomed to the flow of blood, he had taken a lively interest 
in the poor girl, from what he had seen and overheard. 
“And by God, Cap’n, begging your honour’s pardon, a 
brave girl she was, too, although she was an Injin.” 

“Poor Mamalis,” said Hansford, tenderly, “you have 
met with an early and a sad fate. I little thought that she 
would betray me.” 

“Nay, wrong not the dead,” interposed Bernard, “I 
assure you, she knew nothing of the object of our coming. 
But all’s fair in war, Major, and a little intrigue was neces- 
sary to track you to this obscure hold.” 

“Well, farewell, poor luckless maiden! And so I’ve 
killed my friend,” said Hansford, sorrowfully. “ Alas ! 
Mr. Bernard, my arm has been felt in battle, and has sent 
death to many a foe. But, God forgive me ! this is the 
first blood I have ever spilt, except in battle, and this, too, 
flows from a woman.” 

“ Think not of it thus,” said Bernard, whose hard nature 
could not but be touched by this display of unselfish grief 
on the part of his prisoner. “ It was but an accident, and 
should not rest heavily on your soul. Stay, Holliday, I 
would not have the poor girl rot here, either. Suppose 
you take the body to Windsor Hall, where it will be treated 
with due respect. Thompson and myself can, meantime, 
attend the prisoner.” 

“ Look ye, .Cap’n,” said Holliday, with the superstition 
peculiar to vulgar minds ;• “ ’taint that I’m afeard exactly 
neither, but its a mighty dissolute feeling being alone in a 
dark night with a corp. I’d rather kill fifty men, than to 
stay by myself five minutes, with the smallest of the fifty 
after he was killed.” 

“ Well, then, you foolish fellow, go to the hall to-night 
and inform them of her death, and excuse me to Colonel 
Temple for my abrupt departure, and meet me with the 
rest of the men at Tindal’s Point as soon as possible. I 


330 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


will bide there for you. But first help me to take the poor 
girl’s body into the wigwam. I suppose she will rest 
quietly enough here till morning. Major Hansford,” he 
added, courteously, “our horses are ready I perceive. 
You can take Holliday’s there. He can provide himself 
with another at the hall. Shall we ride, sir ?” 

With a sad heart the captive-bound Hansford mounted 
with difficulty the horse prepared for him, which was led 
by Thompson, while Bernard rode by his side, and with 
more of courtesy than could be expected from him, en- 
deavoured to beguile the way with conversation with his 
prisoner. 

Meanwhile Holliday, whistling for company, and ever 
and anon looking behind him warily, to see whether the 
disembodied Mamalis was following him, bent his steps 
towards the hall, to communicate to the unsuspecting Vir- 
ginia the heavy tidings of her lover’s capture. The rough 
soldier, although his nature had been blunted by long 
service and familiarity with scenes of distress, was not 
without some feelings, and showed even in his rude, uncul- 
tivated manners, the sympathy and tenderness which was 
wanting in the more polished but harder heart of Alfred 
Bernard. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


331 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

“ Go to Lord Angelo, 

And let him learn to know, when maidens sue. 

Men give like gods ; hut when they weep and kneel. 

All their petitions are as freely theirs, 

As they themselves would owe them.” 

Measure for Measure. 

It were impossible to describe the silent agony of Vir- 
ginia Temple, when she learned from Holliday, on the 
following morning, the capture of Hansford. She felt 
that it was the wreck of all her hopes, and that the last 
thread which still hung between her and despair was 
snapped. But even in that dark hour, her strength of 
mind, and her firmness of purpose forsook her not. There 
was still a duty for her to perform in endeavouring to pro- 
cure his pardon, and she entertained, with the trusting 
confidence of her young heart, the strong hope that Berke- 
ley would grant her request. On this sacred errand she 
determined to go at once. Although she did not dream 
of the full extent of Bernard’s hypocrisy, yet all his efforts 
had been unavailing to restore full Confidence in his sin- 
cerity. She dared not trust a matter of such importance 
to another, especially when she had reason to suspect that 
that other was far from being friendly in his feelings to- 
wards her lover. Once determined on her course, she lost 
no time in informing her parents of her resolution ; and so, 
when they were all seated around the breakfast-table, she 
said quietly, but firmly — 

“lam going to Accomac to-day, father.” 

“ To where I” cried her mother ; “ why surely, child, you 
must be out of your senses.” 

“No, dearest mother, my calmness is not an indication 


382 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

of insanity. If I should neglect this sacred duty, you 
might then indeed tremble for my reason.” 

“ What in the world are you thinking of, Jeanie J” said 
her father, in his turn surprised at this sudden resolution ; 
“ what duties can call you to Accomac ?” 

“ I go to save life,” replied Virginia. “ Can you wonder, 
my father, that when I see all that I hold dearest in life 
just trembling on the verge of destruction, I should desirei 
to do all in my power to save it.” 

“ You are right, my child,” replied her father, tenderly; 
“if it were possible for you to accomplish any good. But 
what can you do to rescue Hansford from the hand of 
justice ?” 

“ Of justice !” said Virginia, “ and can you unite with 
those, my dear father, who profane the name of justice by 
applying it to the relentless cruelty with which blind ven- 
geance pursues its victims ?” 

“Ah, Jeanie!” said her father, smiling, as he pressed 
her hand tenderly; “you should remember, in language of 
the quaint old satirist, Butler, 

/ 

* No thief e’er felt the halter draw, 

With good opinion of the law;’ 

and although I would not apply the bitter couplet to my 
little Jeanie in its full force, yet she must own that her 
interest in its present application, prevents her from being 
a very competent judge of its propriety and justice.” 

“ But surely, dear father, you cannot think that these 
violent measures against the unhappy parties to the late 
rebellion, are either just or politic?” 

“ I grant, my child, that to my own mind, a far more 
humane policy might be pursued consistent with the ends 
of justice. To inspire terror in a subject is not the surest 
means to secure his allegiance or his love for government. 
I am sure, if you were afraid of your old father, and always 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


3°, 3 


in dread of his wrath and authority, you would not love 
him as you do, Jeanie — and government is at last nothing 
but a larger family. ” 

“Well, then,” returned the artless gill, “why should I 
not go to Sir William Berkeley, and represent to him the 
harshness of his course, and the propriety of tempering his 
revenge with mercy ?” 

“ First, my daughter, because I have only expressed my 
private opinion, which would have but little weight with 
the Governor, or any one else but you and mother, there. 
Remember that we are neither the framers nor the adminis- 
trators of the law. And then you would make but a poor 
mediator, my darling, if you were to attempt to dissuade 
the Governor from his policy, by charging him with cruelty 
and injustice. Think no more of this wild idea, my dear 
child. It can do no good, and reflects more credit on your 
warm, generous heart, than on your understanding or ex- 
perience. ” 

“ Hinder me not, my father,” said Yirginia, earnestly, 
her blue eyes filling with tears. “ I can but fail, and if you 
would save me from the bitterness of self-reproach here- 
after, let me go. Oh, think how it would add bitterness to 
the cup of grief, if, when closing the eyes of a dead friend, 
we should think that we had left some remedy untried which 
might have saved his life 1 If I fail, it will at least be some 
consolation, even in despair, that I did all that I could to 
avert his fate ; and if I succeed — oh 1, how transporting 
the thought that the life of one I love had been spared 
through my interposition- Then hinder me not, father, 
mother — if you would not destroy your daughter’s peace 
forever, oh, let me go 1” '■ 

The solemn earnestness with which the poor girl thus 
urged her parents to grant her request, deeply affected them 
both ; and the old lady, forgetting in her love for her 


334 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE, v 


daughter the indelicacy and impropriety of 'her plan, vol 
unteered her very efficient advocacy of Virginia’s cause. 

“ Indeed, Colonel Temple,” she said, “ you should not 
oppose Virginia in this matter. You will have enough to 
reproach yourself for, if by your means you should prevent 
her from doing what she thinks best. And, indeed, I like 
to see a young girl show so much spirit and interest in her 
lover’s fate. It is seldom you see such things now-a-days, 
though it used to be common enough in England. Now, 
just put it to yourself.” 

The Colonel accordingly did “ put it to himself,” and, 
charmed with his daughter’s affection and heroism, con- 
cluded himself to accompany her to Accomac, and exert 
his own influence with the Governor in procuring the par- 
don of the unhappy Hansford. 

“ Now that’s as it should be,” said the old lady, gratified 
at this renewed assurance of her ascendency over her hus- 
band. “And now, Virginia, cheer up. All will be right, 
my dear, for your father has great influence with the Gov- 
ernor — and, indeed, well he might have, for he has received 
kindness enough at our hands in times past. I should like 
to see him refuse your father a favour. And I will write a 
note to Lady Frances myself, for all the world knows that 
she is governor and all with her husband.” 

“ Ladies generally are,” said the Colonel, with a smile, 
which however could not disguise the sincerity with which 
he uttered the sentiment. 

“ Oh, no, not at all,” retorted the old lady, bridling up. 
“ You are always throwing up your obedience to me, and 
yet, after all said and done, you have your own way pretty 
much, too. But you are not decent to go anywhere. Do, 
pray, Colonel Temple, pay more respect to society, and fix 
yourself up a little. Put on your blue coat and your black 
stock, and dress your hair, and shave, and look genteel for 
once in your life.” Then, seeing by the patient shrug of 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 335 

her good old husband that she had wounded his feelings, 
she patted him tenderly on the shoulder, and added, “ You 
know I always love to see you nice and spruce, and when 
you do attend to your dress, and fix up, I know of none of 
them that are equal to you. Do you, Virginia ?” 

Before the good Colonel had fully complied with all the 
toilet requisitions of his wife, the carriage was ready to 
take the travellers to TindaPs Point, where there was luckily 
a small sloop, just under weigh for Accomac. And Vir- 
ginia, painfully alternating between hope and fear, but sus- 
tained by a consciousness of duty, was borne away across 
the broad Chesapeake, on her pious pilgrimage, to move 
by her tears and prayers the vindictive heart of the stern 
old Governor. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


“ Why, there’s an end then ! I have judged deliberately, and the 
result is death.” The Gamester. 


Situated, as nearly as might be, in the centre of each 
of the counties of Virginia, was a small settlement, which, 
although it aspired to the dignity of a town, could scarcely 
deserve the name. For the most part, these little country 
towns, as they were called, were composed of about four 
houses, to wit : The court house, dedicated to justice, where 
sat, monthly, the magistrates of the county, possessed of an 
unlimited jurisdiction in all cases cognizable in law or 
chancery, not touching life or murder, aud having the care 
of orphans’ persons and estates ; the jail, wherein prisoners 


336 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

committed for any felony were confined, until they could be 
brought before the general court, which had the sole crimi- 
nal jurisdiction in the colony; the tavern, a long, low 
wooden building, generally thronged with loafers and gos- 
sips, and reeking with the fumes of tobacco smoke, apple- 
brandy and rye-whiskey ; and, finally, the store, which 
shared, with the tavern, the patronage of the loafers, and 
which could be easily recognized by the roughly painted 
board sign, containing a catalogue of the goods within, 
arranged in alphabetical order, without reference to any 
other classification. Thus the substantial farmer, in search 
of a pound of candy for his little white headed barbarians, 
whom he had left at play, must needs pass his finger over 
“ cards, chains, calico, cowhides, and candy;” or, if he had 
come to “ town” to purchase a bushel of meal for family 
use, his eye was greeted with the list of M’s, containing 
meal, mustard, mousetraps, and molasses. 

It was to the little court house town of the county of Ac- 
comac, that Sir William Berkeley had retired after the 
burning of Jamestown ; and here he remained, since the 
suppression of the rebellion, like a cruel old spider, in the 
centre of his web, awaiting, with grim satisfaction, the 
capture of such of the unwary fugitives as might fall into 
his power. 

“Well, gentlemen, the court martial is set,” said Sir 
William Berkeley, as he gazed upon the gloomy faces of 
the military men around him, in the old court house of 
Accomac. In that little assembly, might be seen the tall 
and manly form of Colonel Philip Ludwell, who had been 
honoured, by the especial confidence of Berkeley, as he was, 
afterwards, by the constant and tender love of the widowed 
Lady Frances. There, too, was the stern, hard counten- 
ance of Major Bobert Beverley, whose unbending loyalty 
had shut his eyes to true merit in an opponent. The names 
of the remaining members of the court, have, unfortunately, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


337 


not found a place in the history of the rebellion. Alfred 
Bernard, ou whom the governor had showered, with a 
lavish hand, the favours which it was in his power to be- 
stow, had been promoted to the office of Major, in the 
room of Thomas Hansford, outlawed, and was, therefore, 
entitled to a seat at the council which was to try the life 
of his rival. But as his evidence was of an important cha- 
racter, and as he had been concerned directly in the arrest 
of the prisoner, he preferred to act in the capacity of a 
witness, rather than as a judge. 

“ Let the prisoner be brought before the court,” said 
Berkeley ; and in a few moments, Hansford, with his hands 
manacled, was led, between a file of soldiers, to the seat 
prepared for him. His short confinement had made but 
little change in his appearance. His face, indeed, was 
paler than usual, and his eye was brighter, for the exciting 
and solemn scene through which he was about to pass. 
But prejudged, though he was, his firmness never forsook 
him, and he met with a calm, but respectful gaze, the many 
eyes which were bent upon him. Conspicuous among the 
rebels, and popular and beloved in the colony, his trial had 
attracted a crowd of spectators ; some impelled by vulgar 
curiosity, some by their loyal desire to witness the trial of 
a iebel to his king, but not a few by sympathy for his early 
and already well known fate.” 

As might well be expected, there was but little diflficutly 
in establishing his participation in the late rebellion. 
There were many of the witnesses, who had seen him in in- 
timate association with Bacon, and several who recognized 
him as among the most active in the trenches at James- 
town. To crown all, the irresistible evidence was intro- 
duced by Bernard, that the prisoner had actually brought 
a threatening message to the governor, while at Windsor 
Hall, which had induced the first flight to Accomac. It 
was useless to resist the force of such accumulated testi- 
21 


THE devoted bride. 


338 


mony, and Hansford saw tbat his fate was settled. It were 
folly to contend before such a tribunal, that his acts did not 
constitute rebellion, or that the court before whom he was 
arraigned was unconstitutional. The devoted victim of 
their vengeance, therefore, awaited in silence the conclusion 
of this solemn farce, which they had dignified by the name 
of a trial. 

The evidence concluded, Sir William Berkeley, as Lord 
President of the Court, collected the suffrages of its mem- 
bers. It might easily be anticipated by their gloomy coun- 
tenances, what was the solemn import of their judgment. 
Thomas Ludwell, the secretary of the council, acted as 
the clerk, and in a voice betraying much emotion, read the 
fatal decision. The sympathizing bystanders, who in awful 
silence awaited the result, drew a long breath as though 
relieved from their fearful suspense, even by having heard 
the worst. And Hansford was to die I He heard with 
much emotion the sentence which doomed him to a traitor’s 
death the next day at noon ; and those who were near, 
heard him sob, “ My poor, poor mother 1” But almost 
instantly, with violent effort he controlled his feelings, 
and asked permission to speak. 

u Surely,” said the Governor, “ provided your language 
be respectful to the Court, and that you say nothing re- 
flecting on his majesty’s government at home or in the 
Colony of Virginia.” 

“ These are hard conditions,” said Hansford, rising from 
his seat, “ as with such limitations, I can scarcely hope to 
justify my conduct. But I accept your courtesy, even with 
these conditions. A dying man has at last but little to say, 
and but little disposition to mingle again in the affairs of 
a world which he must so soon leave. In the short, the 
strangely short time allotted to me, I have higher and 
holier concerns to interest me. Ere this hour to-morrow, 
1 will have passed from the scenes of earth to appear before 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


839 


a higher tribunal than yours, and to answer for the forgotten 
sins of my past life. Bui I thank my God, that while that 
awful tribunal is higher, it is also juster and more merciful 
than yours. Even in this sad moment, however, I cannot 
forget the country for which I have lived, and for which I 
must so soon die. I see by your countenances that I am 
already transcending your narrow limits. But it cannot be 
treason to pray for her, and as my life has been devoted to 
her service, so will my prayers for her welfare ascend with 
my petitions for forgiveness. 

“ I would say a word as to the offence with which I have 
been charged, and the evidence on which I have been con- 
victed. That evidence amounts to the fact that I was in 
arms, by the authority of the Governor, against the common 
enemies of my country. Is this treason ? That I was the 
bearer of a threatening message to the Governor from Gene- 
ral Bacon, which caused the first flight into Accomac. And 
here I would say,” and he fixed his eyes full on Alfred Ber- 
nard, as he spoke, who endeavoured to conceal his feelings 
by a smile of scorn, “that the evidence on this point has 
been cruelly, shamefully garbled and perverted. It was 
never stated that, while as the minister of another, I bore 
the message referred to, I urged the Governor to consider 
and retract the proclamation which he had made, and offered 
my own mediation to restore peace and quiet to the Colony. 
Had my advice been taken the beams ofi peace would have 
once more burst upon Virginia, the scenes which are con- 
stantly enacted here, and which will continue to be enacted, 
would never have disgraced the sacred name of justice ; and 
the name of Sir William Berkeley would not be handed 
down to the execrations of posterity as a dishonoured 
knight, and a brutal, bloody butcher.” 

“ Silence !” cried the incensed old Governor, in tones of 
thunder, “ or by the wounds of God, I’ll shorten the brief 


340 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


space which now interposes between you and eternity. Is 
this redeeming your promise of respect?” 

“ I beg pardon,” said Hansford, undaunted by the 
menace. “ Excuse me, if I cannot speak patiently of cruelty 
and oppression. But let this pass. That perfidious wretch 
who would rise above my ruins, never breathed a word of 
this, when on the evangelist of Almighty God he was 
sworn to speak the truth. But if such evidence be suffi- 
cient to convict me of treason now, why was it not sufficient 
then ? Why, with the same facts before you, did you, Sir 
William Berkeley, discharge the traitor in arms, and now 
seek his death when disarmed and impotent ? One other 
link remains in the chain, this feeble chain of evidence. I 
aided in th§ siege of Jamestown, and once more drove the 
Governor and his fond adherents from their capital, to their 
refuge in the Accomac. I cannot, I will not deny it. But 
neither can this be treason, unless, indeed, Sir William 
Berkeley possesses in his own person the sacred majesty of 
Virginia. For when he abdicated the government by his first 
flight from the soil of Virginia, the- sovereign people of the 
Colony, assembled in solemn convention, declared his office 
vacant. In that convention, you, my judges, well know, 
for you found it to your cost, were present a majority of 
the governor’s council, the whole army, and almost the 
entire chivalry and talent of the colony. In their name 
writs were issued for an assembly, which met under their 
authority, and the commission of governor was placed in 
the hands of Nathaniel Bacon.” 

“By an unauthorized mob,” said Berkeley, unable to 
restrain his impatience. 

“By an organized convention of sovereign people,” re- 
turned Hansford, proudly. “ You, Sir William Berkeley, 
deemed it not an unauthorized mob, when confiding in your 
justice, and won by your soft promises, a similar conven- 
tion, composed of cavaliers and rich landholders, confided 


THB DEVOTED BRIDE. 


341 


to your hands, in 1659, the high trust whico you now 
hold. If such a proceeding were unauthorized then, were 
you not guilty in accepting the commission ? If authorized, 
were not the same people competent to bestow the trust 
upon another, whom they deemed more worthy to hold it ? 
If this be so, the insurgents, as you have chosen to call, 
them, were not in arms against the government at the siege 
of Jamestown. And thus the last strand in the coil of evi- 
dence, with which you have involved me, is broken, as withs 
are severed at the touch of fire. But light as is the testi- 
mony against me, it is sufficient to turn the beam of justice, 
when the sword of Brennus is cast into the scale. 

“ One word more and I am done ; for I see you are-impa- 
tient for the sacrifice. I had thought that I would have 
been tried by a jury of my peers. Such I deemed my right 
as a British subject. But condemned by the extraordinary 
and unwarranted proceedings of this Star Chamber” — 

“ Silence 1” cried Berkeley, again waxing wroth at such 
an imputation. 

“I beg pardon once more,” continued Hansford, “I 
thought the favourite institution of Charles the First would 
not have met with so little favour from such loyal cavaliers. 
But I demand in the name of Freedom, in the name of 
England, in the name of God and Justice, when was Magna 
Charta or the Petition of Right abolished on the soil of 
Virginia ? Is the Governor of Virginia so little of a 
lawyer that he remembers not the language of the stout 
Barons of Runnymede, unadorned in style, but pregnant with 
freedom. ‘ No freeman may be taken or imprisoned, or be 
disseised of his freehold or liberties, or his free-customs, or 
be outlawed or exiled, or in any manner destroyed, but by 
the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land.’ 
Excuse me, gentlemen, for repeating to such sage judges so 
old and hackneyed a fragment of the law. But until to-day, 
I had been taught to hold those words as sacred, and as 


342 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

indeed containing the charter of the liberties of an English 
man. Alas ! it will no longer be hackneyed nor quoted by 
the slaves of England, except when they mourn with bitter 
but hopeless tears, for the higher and purer freedom of their 
ruder fathers. Why am I thus arraigned before a court- 
martial in time of peace ? Am I found in arms ? Am I even 
an officer or a soldier ? The commission which I once held 
has been torn from me, and given, as his thirty pieces, to 
yon dissembling Judas, for the price of my betrayal. But 
I am done. Your tyranny and oppression cannot last for 
ever. The compressed spring will at last recoil with power 
proportionate to the force by which it has been restrained — 
and freed posterity will avenge on a future tyrant my cruel 
and unnatural murder.” 

Hansford sat down, and Sir William Berkeley, flushed 
with indignation, replied, 

. “ I had hoped that the near approach of death, if not a 
higher motive, would have saved us from such treasonable 
sentiments. But, sir, the insolence of your manner has 
checked any sympathy which I might have entertained for 
your early fate. I, therefore, have only to pronounce the 
judgment of the court ; that you be taken to the place 
whence you came, and there safely kept until to-morrow 
noon, when you will be taken, with a rope about your neck, 
to the common gallows, and there hung by the neck until 
you are dead. And may the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy 
on your soul !” 

“ Amen 1” was murmured, in sad whispers, by the hun- 
dreds of pale spectators who crowded around the unhappy 
prisoner. 

“ How is this !” cried Hansford, once more rising to his 
feet, with strong emotion. “ Gentlemen, you are soldiers, 
as such I may claim you as brethren, as such you should 
be brave and generous men. On that generosity, in this 
hour of peril, I throw myself, and ask as a last indulgence, 


THE DETOTED BRIDE. 843 

as a dying favour, that 1 may die the death of a soldier, 
and not of a felon.” 

“You have lived a traitor’s, not a soldier’s life,” said 
Berkeley, in an insulting tone. “ A soldier’s life is devoted 
to his king and country ; your’s to a rebel and to treason. 
You shall die the death of a traitor.” 

“Well, then, I have done,” said Hansford, with a sigh, 
“ and must look to Him alone for mercy, who can make 
the felon’s gallows as bright a pathway to happiness, as the 
field of glory.” 

Many a cheek flushed with indignation at the refusal cf 
the governor to grant this last petition of a brave man. A 
murmur of dissatisfaction arose from the crowd, and even 
some sturdy loyalists were heard to mutter, “shame.” The 
other members of the court were seen to confer together, 
and to remonstrate with the governor. 

“ ’Fore God, no,” said Berkeley, in a whisper to his ad- 
visers. “ Think of the precedent it will establish. Traitor 
he has lived, and as far as my voice can go, traitor he shall 
die. I suppose the sheep-killing hound, and the egg-suck- 
ing cur, will next whine out their request to be shot instead 
of hung.” 

So great was the influence of Berkeley, over the minds 
of the court, that, after a feeble remonstrance, the petition 
of the prisoner was rejected. Old Beverley alone, was 
heard to mutter in the ear of Philip Ludwell, that it was a 
shame to deny a brave man a soldier’s death, and doom 
him to a dog’s fate. 

“ And for all this,” he added, “ its a damned hard lot, 
and blast me, but I think Hansford to be worth in bravery 
and virtue, fifty of that painted popinjay, Bernard, whose 
cruelty is as much beyond his years as his childish vanity 
is beneath them.” 

“ Well, gentlemen, I trust you are now satisfied,” said 
Berkeley. “ Sheriff, remove your prisoner, and,” looking 


344 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


angrily around at the malecontents, “ if necessary, summon 
an additional force to assist you.” 

The officer, however, deemed no such precaution neces- 
sary, and the hapless Hansford was conducted back to his 
cell under the same guard that brought him thence ; there 
to await the execution on the morrow of the fearful sentence 
to which he had been condemned. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 


Isabella. “Yet show some pity, 

Angelo. I show it most of all when I show justice.” 

Measure for Measure. 

That evening Sir William Berkeley was sitting in the 
private room at the tavern, which had been fitted up for 
his reception. He had strictly commanded his servants to 
deny admittance to any one who might wish to see him. 
The old man was tired of counsellors, advisers, and peti- 
tioners, who harassed him in their attempt to curb his 
impatient ire, and he was determined to act entirely for 
himself. He had thus been sitting for more than an hour, 
looking moodily into the fire, without even the officious 
Lady Frances to interfere with his reflections, when a ser- 
vant in livery entered the room. 

“ If your Honour please,” said the obsequious servitor, 
“ there is a lady at the door who says she must see you on 
urgent business. I told her that you could not be seen, 
but she at last gave me this note, which she begged me to 
hand you.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 345 

Berkeley impatiently tore open the note and read as 
follows : — 

“ By his friendship for my father, and his former kind- 
ness to me, I ask for a brief interview with Sir William 
Berkeley. # “Virginia Temple.” 

“ Fore God !” said the Governor, angrily, “they beset me 
with an importunity which makes me wretched. What the 
devil can the girl want ! Some favour for Bernard, I sup- 
pose. Well, any thing for a moment’s respite from these 
troublesome rebels. Show her up, Dabney.” 

In another moment the door again opened, and Virginia 
Temple, pale and trembling, fell upon her knees before the 
Governor, and raised her soft, blue eyes to his face so im- 
ploringly, that the heart of the old man was moved to pity. 

“ Bise, my daughter,” he said, tenderly; “tell me your 
cause of grief. It surely cannot be so deep as to bring 
you thus upon your knees to an old friend. Bise then, and 
tell me.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” she said, with a trembling voice, “ I 
knew that you were kind, and would listen to my prayer.” 

“ Well, Virginia,” said the Governor, in the same mild 
tone, “let me hear your request? You know, we old ser- 
vants of the king have not much time to spare at best, and 
these are busy times. Is your father well, and your good 
mother ? Can I serve them in any thing?” 

“ Thy are both well and happy, nor do they need your 
aid,” said Virginia; “but I, sir, oh! how can I speak. I 
have come from Windsor Hall to ask that you will be just 
and merciful. There is, sir, a brave man here in chains, 
who is doomed to die— to die to-morrow. Oh, Hansford, 
Hansford !” and unable longer to control her emotion, the 
poor, broken-hearted girl burst into an agony of tears 

Berkeley’s brow clouded in an instant. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


346 


" And !s it for that unhappy man, my poor girl, that yon 
have come alone to sue?” 

“ I did not come alone,” replied Virginia; “ my father 
is with me, and will himself unite in my request.” 

“ 1 will be most happy to see my old friend again, but I 
would that he came on some less hopeless errand. Major 
Hansford must die. The laws alike of his God and his 
country, which he has trampled regardless under foot, re- 
quire the sacrifice of his blood.” 

“ But, for the interposition of mercy,” urged the poor 
girl, “ the laws of God require the death of all — and the 
laws of his country have vested in you the right to arrest 
their rigour at your will. Oh, how much sweeter to be 
merciful than sternly just !” 

“ Nay, my poor girl,” said Sir William, “you speak of 
what you cannot understand, and your own griefs have 
blinded your mind. Justice, Virginia, is mercy; for by 
punishing the offender it prevents the repetition of the 
offence. The vengeance of the law thus becomes the safe- 
guard of society, and the sword of justice becomes the 
sceptre of righteousness.” 

“ I cannot reason with you,” returned Virginia. “ You 
are a statesman, and I am but a poor, weak girl, ignorant 
of the ways of the world.” 

“And therefore you have come to advocate this suit 
instead of your father,” said Berkeley, smiling. “ I see 
through your little plot already. Come, tell me now, am I 
not right in my conjecture ? Why have you come to urge 
the cause of Hansford, instead of your father ?” 

“ Because,” said Virginia, with charming simplicity, “we 
both thought, that as Sir William Berkeley had already 
decided upon the fate of this unhappy man, it would be 
easier to reach his heart, than to affect the mature decision 
of his judgment.” 

“ You argued rightly, my dear girl,” said Berkeley, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


347 


touched by her frankness and simplicity, as well as by her 
tears. “ But it is the hard fate of those in power to deny 
themselves often the luxury of mercy, while they tread 
onward in the rough but straight path of justice. It is 
ours to follow the stern maxim of our old friend Shak- 
speare : 

‘ Mercy but murders, pardoning those who kill.’ ” 

“But it does seem to me,” said the resolute girl, losing 
all the native diffidence of her character in the interest she 
felt in her cause — “it does seem to me that even stern 
policy would sometimes dictate mercy. May not a judicious 
clemency often secure the love of the misguided citizen, 
while harsh justice would estrange him still farther from 
loyalty ?” 

“ There, you are trenching upon your father’s part, my 
child,” said the Governor. “You must not go beyond 
your own cue, you know — for believe me that your plea for 
mercy would avail far more with me than your reasons, how- 
ever cogent. This rebellion proceeded too far to justify 
any clemency toward those who promoted it.” 

“ But it is now suppressed,” said Virginia, resolutely ; 
“ and is it not the sweetest attribute of power, to help the 
fallen ? Oh, remember,” she added, carried away com- 
pletely by her subject, 

« ‘ Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won, 

Than in restoring such as are undone ; 

Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear, 

But man alone can, when he conquers, spare.’ ” 

“I did not expect to hear your father’s daughter defend 
her cause by such lines as these. Do you know where they 
are found ?” 

“ They are Waller’s, I believe,” said Virginia, blushing 
at this involuntary display of learning ; “ but it is their 
truth, and not their author, which suggested them to me.” 


348 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


“ Your memory is correct,” said Berkeley, with a smile, 
“ but they are found in his panegyric on the Protector. A 
eulogy upon a traitor is bad authority with an old cavalier 
like me.” 

“ If, then, you need authority which you cannot question,” 
the girl replied, earnestly, “do you think that the royal 
cause lost strength by the mild policy of Charles the 
Second ? That is authority that even you dare not ques- 
tion.” 

“ Well, and what if I should say,” replied Berkeley, 
“ that this very leniency was one of the causes that 
encouraged the recent rebellion ? But go, my child ; I 
would rejoice if I could please you, but Hansford’s fate is 
settled. I pity you; but I cannot forgive him.” And with 
a courteous inclination of his head, he signified his desire 
that their interview should end. 

“ Nay,” shrieked Virginia, in desperation, “ I will not let 
you go, except you bless me,” and throwing herself again 
upon her knees, she implored his mercy. Berkeley, who, 
with all his sternness, was not an unfeeling man, was deeply 
moved. What the result might have been can never be 
known, for at that moment a voice was heard from the street 
exclaiming, “ Drummond is taken !” In an instant the 
whole appearance of the Governor changed. His cheek 
flushed and his eye sparkled, as with hasty strides he left 
the room and descended the stairs. No more the fine 
specimen of a cavalier gentleman, his manner became at 
once harsh and irritable. 

“ Well, Mr. Drummond,” he cried, as he saw the proud 
rebel led manacled to the door. “ ’Fore God, and I am 
more delighted to see you than any man in the colony. 
You shall hang in half an hour.” 

“ And if he do,” shrieked the wild voice of a woman 
from the crowd, “ think you that with your puny hand you 
can arrest the current of liberty in this colony ? And when 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 349 

you appear before the dread bar of God, the spirits of these 
martyred patriots will rise up to condemn you, and fiends 
shall snatch at your blood-stained soul, perfidious tyrant ! 
And I will be among them, for such a morsel of vengeance 
would sweeten hell. Ha 1 ha 1 ha 1” 

With that wild, maniac laugh, Sarah Drummond disap- 
peared from the crowd of astounded spectators. 

History informs us that the deadly threat of Berkeley 
was carried into effect immediately. But it was not until 
two days afterwards that William Drummond met a traitor’s 
doom upon the common gallows. 

Virginia Temple, thus abruptly left, and deprived of all 
hope, fell senseless on the floor of the room. The hope 
which had all along sustained her brave young heart, had 
now vanished forever, and kindly nature relieved the agony 
of her despair by unconsciousness. And there she lay, pale 
and beautiful, upon that floor, while the noisy clamour 
without was hailing the capture of another victim, whose 
fate was to bring sorrow and despair to another broken 
heart. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

/ 

“ His nature is so far from doing harm, 

That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy.” 

King Lear. 


When Virginia aroused again to consciousness, her eyes 
met the features of Alfred Bernard, as he knelt over her 
form. Not yet realizing her situation, she gazed wildly 
about her, and in a hoarse, husky whisper, which fell hor- 
ridly on the ear, she said, “ Where is my father ?” 


850 


THE DEVOTED BRiDE. 


‘‘At home, Virginia,” replied Bernard, softly, chafing 
her white temples the while — “ And yon are here in Acco- 
mac. Look up, Virginia, and see that you are not without 
a friend even here.” 

“ Oh, now, yes, now I know it all,” she shrieked, spring- 
ing up with a wild bound, and rushing like a maniac to- 
ward the door. “ They have killed him 1 I have slept 
here, instead of begging his life. I have murdered him ! 
Ha ! you, sir, are you the jailer ? I should know your 
face.” 

“ Nay, do not speak thus, Virginia,” said Bernard, hold- 
ing her gently in his arms, “ Hansford is yet alive. Be 
calm.” 

“ Hansford 1 I thought he was dead !” said the poor 
girl, her mind still wandering. “ Did not Mamalis — no— 
she is dead — all are dead — ha ? where am I ? Sure this 
is not Windsor Hall. Nay, what am I talking about. 
Let me see and she pressed her hand to her forehead, 
and smoothed back her fair hair, as she strove to collect 
her thoughts. “ Ah 1 now I know,” she said at length, 
more calmly, “ I beg your pardon, Mr. Bernard, I have 
acted very foolishly, I fear. But you will forgive a poor 
distracted girl.” 

“ I promised you my influence with the governor,” said 
Bernard, “ and I do not yet despair of effecting my object. 
And so be calm.” 

“Despair!” said Virginia, bitterly, “as well might you 
expect to turn a river from the sea, as to turn the relentless 
heart of that bigoted old tyrant from blood. And yet, I 
thank you, Mr. Bernard, and beg that you will leave no 
means untried to preserve my poor doomed Hansford. 
You see I am quite calm now, and should you fail in your 
efforts to procure a pardon, may I ask one last melancholy 
favour at your hands ! I would see him once more before 
we part, forever.” And to prove how little she knew her 


TH5 DEVOTED BRIDE. 


551 


own heart, the poor girl burst into a renewea agony of 
grief. 

“ Calm your feelings, then, dear Virginia,” said Bernard, 
“ and you shall see him. But by giving way thus, you 
would unman him.” 

“You remind me of my duty, my friend,” said Virginia, 
controlling herself, with a strong effort, “ and I will not 
again forget it in my selfish grief. Shall we go now ?” 

“Remain here, but a few moments, patiently,” he re- 
plied, “ and I will seek the governor, and urge him to re- 
lent. If I fail, I will return to you.” 

Leaving the young girl once more to her own sad reflec- 
tions, Alfred Bernard left the room. 

“Virtue has its own reward,” he muttered, as he walked 
slowly along. “ I wonder how many would be virtuous if 
it were not so ! Self is at last the mainspring of action, 
and when it produces good, we call it virtue ; when it ac- 
complishes evil, we call it vice ; wherein, then, am I worse 
than my fellow man ? Here am I, now, giving this poor 
girl an interview with her rebel lover, and extracting some 
happiness for them, even from their misery. And yet I 
am not a whit the worse off. Nay, I am benefited, for 
gratitude is a sure prompter of love ; and when Hansford 
is out of the way, who so fit to supply the niche, left vacant 
in her heart, as Alfred Bernard, who soothed their mutual 
grief. Thus virtue is often a valuable handmaid to suc- 
cess, and may be used for our purposes, when we want her 
assistance, and afterwards be whistled to the winds as a 
pestilent jade. Machiavelli in politics, Loyola in religion, 
Rochefoucault in society, ye .are the mighty three, who, 
seeing the human heart in all its nakedness, have dared to 
tear the mask from its deformed and hideous features.” 

“ What in the world are you muttering about, Alfred ?” 
said Governor Berkeley, as they met in the porch, as Ber- 
nard had finished this diabolical soliloquy. 


352 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

“Oh nothing,” replied the young intriguer. “But I 
came to seek your excellency.” 

“ And I to seek for you, my sage young counsellor ; I 
have to advise with you upon a subject which lies heavy on 
my heart, Alfred.” 

“ You need only command my counsel and it is yours,” 
said Bernard, “ but I fear that I can be of little assistance 
in your reflections.” 

“ Yes you can, my boy,” returned Berkeley, “ I know 
not whether you will esteem it a compliment or not, Alfred, 
but yours is an old head on young shoulders, and the heart, 
which in the season of youth often flits away from the sober 
path of judgment, seems with you to follow steadily in the 
wake of reason.” 

“ If you mean that I am ever ready to sacrifice my own 
selfish impulses to my duty, I do esteem it as a compliment, 
though I fear not altogether deserved.” 

“Well, then,” said the Governor, “this poor boy, Hans.- 
ford, who is to suffer death to-morrow, I have had a strange 
interview concerning him since I last saw you.” 

“ Aye, with Miss Temple,” returned Bernard. “ She told 
me she had seen you, and that you were as impregnable to 
assault as the rock of Gibraltar.” 

“I thought so too, where treason wa3 concerned,” said 
Berkeley. “But some how, the leaven of the poor girl’s 
tears is working strangely in my heart ; and after I had left 
her, whom should I meet but her old father.” 

“ Is Colonel Temple here ?” asked Bernard, surprised. 

“ Aye is he, and urged Hansford’s claims to pardon with 
such force, that I had to fly from temptation. Nay he 
even put his plea for mercy upon the ground of his own 
former kindness to me.” 

“ The good old gentleman seems determined to be paid 
for that hospitality,” said Bernard, with a sneer. “ Well 1” 

“Well, altogether I am almost determined to interpose 


THE DEVOTED BRI D E. 


353 


my reprieve, until the wishes of his majesty are known,” 
said Berkeley, with some hesitation. 

Bernard was silent, for some moments, and the Governor 
continued. 

“ And what do you say to this course, Alfred ?” 

“ Simply, that if you are determined, I have nothing to 
say.” 

“Nay, but I am not determined, my young friend.” 

“ Then I must ask you what are the grounds of your 
hesitation, before I can express an opinion ?” said Bernard. 

“Well, first,” said the Governor, “because it will be a 
personal favor to Colonel Temple, and will dry the tears 
in those blue eyes of his pretty daughter. His kindness to 
me in this unhappy rebellion would be but poorly requited, 
if I refused the first and only favour that he has ever asked 
of me.” 

“ Then hereafter,” returned Bernard, quietly, “it would 
be good policy in a rebellion, for half the rebels to remain 
at home and entertain the Governor at their houses. They 
would thus secure the pardon of the rest.” 

“Well, you young Solomon,” said Berkeley, laughing, 
“ I believe you are right there. It would be a dangerous 
precedent. But then, a reprieve is not a pardon, and 
while I might thus oblige my friends, the king could here- 
after see the cause of justice vindicated.” 

“ And you would shift your own responsibility upon the 
king,” replied Bernard. “ Has not Charles Stuart enough 
to trouble him, with his rebellious subjects at home, with- 
out having to supervise every petty felony or treason that 
occurs in his distant colonies ? This provision of our 
charter, denying to the governor the power of absolute 
pardon, but granting him power to reprieve, wLs only 
made, that in doubtful cases, the minister might rely upon 
the wisdom of majesty. It was never intended to shift all 
the trouble and vexation of a colonial executive upon the 
22 


854 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

overloaded hands of the king. If you have any doubt of 
Hansford’s guilt, I wonld be the la^t to turn your heart 
from clemency, by a word of my mouth. If he be guilty, 
I only ask whether Sir William Berkeley is the man to 
shrink from responsibility, and to fasten upon his royal 
master the odium, if odium there be, attending the execu- 
tion of the sentence against a rebel.” 

“ Zounds, no, Bernard, you know I am not. But then 
there are a plenty of rebels to sate the vengeance of the 
law, besides this poor young fellow. Does justice demand 
that all should perish ?” 

“My kind patron,” said Bernard, “H whom I owe all 
that I have and am, do not further urge me to oppose feel- 
ings so honorable to your heart. Exercise your clemency 
towards this unhappy young man, in whose fate I feel as 
deep an interest as yourself. If harm should flow from 
your mercy, who can censure you for acting from motives 
so generous and humane. If by your mildness you should 
encourage rebellion again, posterity will pardon the weak- 
ness of the Governor in the benevolence of the man.” 

“ Stay,” said Berkeley, his pride wounded by this impu- 
tation, “ you know, Alfred, that if I thought that clemency 
towards this young rebel would encourage rebellion in the 
future, I would rather lose my life than spare his. But 
speak out, and tell me candidly why you think the execu- 
tion of this sentence necessary to satisfy justice.” 

“You force me to an ungrateful duty,” replied the young 
hypocrite, “ for it is far more grateful to the heart of a 
benevolent man to be the advocate of mercy, than the stern 
champion of justice. But since you ask my reasons, it is 
my duty to obey you. First, then, this young man, from 
his talent, his bravery, and his high-flown notions about 
liberty, is far more dangerous than any of the insurgents 
who have survived Nathaniel Bacon. Then, he has shown 
that so far from repenting of his treason, he is ready to 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


855 


justify it, as witness his speech, wherein he predicted the 
triumph of revolution in Virginia, and denounced the ven- 
geance of future generations upon tyranny and oppression. 
Nay, he even went farther, and characterized as brutal 
bloody butchers the avengers of the broken laws of their 
country.” 

“ I remember,” said Berkeley, turning pale at the recol- 
lection. 

“ But there is another cogent reason why he should suffer 
the penalty which he has so richly incurred. If your object 
be to secure the returning loyalty and affection of the people, 
you should not incense them by unjust discrimination in 
favour of a particular rebel. The friends of Drummond, 
of Lawrence, of Cheeseman, of Wilford, of Bland, of Car- 
ver, will all say, and say with justice, that you spared the 
principal leader in the rebellion, the personal friend and 
adviser of Bacon, while their own kinsmen were doomed to 
the scaffold. Nor will those ghosts walk unavenged.” 

“ I see, I see,” cried Berkeley, grasping Bernard warmly 
by the hand. “ You have saved me, Alfred, from a weak- 
ness which I must ever afterwards have deplored, and at 
the expense of your own feelings, my boy.” 

“Yes, my dear patron,” replied Bernard, with a sigh, 
“ you may well say at the expense of my own feelings. For 
I too, have just witnessed a scene which would have moved 
a heart of stone ; and it was at the request of that poor, 
weeping, broken-hearted girl, to save whom from distress, 
I would willingly lay down my life — it was at her request 
that I came to beg at your hands the poor privilege of a 
last interview with her lover. Even Justice, stern as are 
her decrees, cannot deny this boon to Mercy.” 

“ You have a generous heart, my dear boy,” said the 
Governor, with the tears starting from 1 is eyes. “There 
are not many men who would thus take delight in minister- 
ing consolation to the heart of a successful rival. You 


356 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


have my full and free permission. Go, my son, and through 
life may your heart be ever thus awake to such generous 
impulses, yet sustained and controlled by your unwavering 
devotion to duty and justice.” 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 


“My life, my health, my liberty, my all ! 

How shall I welcome thee to this sad place — 

How speak to thee the words of joy and transport? 
How run into thy arms, withheld by fetters, 

Or take thee into mine, while I’m thus manacled 
And pinioned like a thief or murderer ?” 

The Mourning Bride. 


How different from the soliloquy of the dark and 
treacherous Bernard, seeking in the sophistry and casu- 
istry of philosophy to justify his selfishness, were the 
thoughts of his noble victim ! Too brave to fear death, 
yet too truly great not to feel in all its solemnity the grave 
importance of the hour ; with a soul formed for the enjoy- 
ment of this world, yet fully prepared to encounter the 
awful mysteries of another, the heart of Thomas Hansford 
beat calmly and healthfully, unappalled by the certainty 
that on the morrow it would beat no more. He was 
seated on a rude cot, in the room which was prepared for 
his brief confinement, reading his Bible. The proud man, 
who relying on his own strength had braved many dangers, 
and whose cheek had never blanched from fear of an earthly 
adversary, was not ashamed in this, his hour of great need, 
to seek consolation and support from Him who alone could 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 857 

conduct him through the dark valley of the shadow of 
death. 

The passage which he read was one of the sublime strains 
of the rapt Isaiah, and never had the promise seemed 
sweeter and dearer to his soul than now, when he could 
so fully appropriate it to himself. 

“ Fear not for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee 
by my name ; thou art mine. 

“ When thou passest through the waters I will be with 
thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee ; 
when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burnt ; 
neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. 

“ For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy one of Israel, 
thy Saviour.” 

As he read and believed the blessed assurance contained 
in the sacred promise, he learned to feel that death was 
indeed but the threshold to a purer world. So absorbed 
was he in the contemplation of this sublime theme, that he 
did not hear the door open, and it was some time before 
he looked up and saw Alfred Bernard and Virginia Tem- 
ple, who had quietly entered the room. 

Virginia’s resolution entirely gave way, and violently 
trembling from head to foot, her hands and brow as white 
and cold as marble, she well nigh sank under the sickening 
effect of her agony. For all this she did not weep. There 
are wounds which never indicate their existence by outward 
bleeding, and such are esteemed most dangerous. ’Tis thus 
with the spirit-wounds which despair inflicts upon its vic- 
tim. Nature yields not to the soul the sad relief of tears, 
but falling in bitter drops they petrify and crush the sad 
heart, which they fail to relieve. 

Hansford, too, was much moved, but with a greater con- 
trol of his feelings he said, “ And so, you have come to 
take a last farewell, Virginia. This is very, very kind.” 

“I regret,” said Alfred Bernard, “that the only condi- 


v 853 


the devoted bride. 


tion on which I gained admittance for Miss Temple was, 
that I should remain during the interview. Major Hans- 
ford will see the necessity of such a precaution, and will, I 
am sure, pardon an intrusion as painful to me as to him- 
self.” 

The reader, who has been permitted to see the secret 
workings of that black heart, which was always veiled 
from the world, need not be told that no such precaution 
was proposed by the Governor. Bernard’s object was 
more selfish ; it was to prevent his victim from prejudicing 
the mind of Yirginia towards him, by informing her of the 
prominent part that he had taken in Hansford’s trial and 
conviction. 

“Oh, certainly, sir,” replied Hansford, gratefully, “and 
I thank you, Mr. Bernard, for thus affording me an oppor- 
tunity of taking a last farewell of the strongest tie which 
yet binds me to earth. I had thought till now,” he added, 
with emotion, “ that I was fully prepared to meet my fate. 
Well, Yirginia, the play is almost over, and the last dread 
scene, tragic though it be, cannot last long.” 

“Oh, God!” cried the trembling girl, “help me — help 
me to bear this heavy blow.” 

“ Nay, speak not thus, my own Yirginia,” he said. 
“Remember that my lot is but the common destiny of man- 
kind, only hastened a few hours. The leaves, that the chill 
autumn breath has strewn upon the earth, will be supplied 
by others in the spring, which in their turn will sport for a 
season in the summer wind, and fade and die with another 
year. Thus one generation, passes away, and another 
comes, like them to live, like them to die and be forgotten. 
We need not fear death, if we have discharged our duty.” 

With such words of cold philosophy did Hansford strive 
to console the sad heart of Yirginia. 

“ ’Tis true, the death I die,” he added with a shudder 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 859 

“is what men call disgraceful — but the heart need feel no 
fear which is sheltered by the Rock of Ages.” 

“ And yours is sheltered there, I know,” she said. “ The 
change for you, though sudden and awful, must be happy ; 
but for me ! for me ! — oh, God, my heart will break I” 

“ Virginia, Virginia,” said Hansford, tenderly, as he 
tried with his poor manacled hands to support her almost 
fainting form, “control yourself. Oh, do not add to my 
sorrows by seeing you suffer thus. You have still many 
duties to perform — to soothe the declining years of your 
old parents — to cheer with your warm heart the many 
friends who love you — and, may I add,” he continued, with 
a faltering voice, “ that my poor, poor mother will need 
your consolation. She will soon be without a protector on 
earth, and this sad news, I fear, will well nigh break her 
heart. To you, and to the kind hands of her merciful 
Father in heaven, I commit the charge of my widowed 
mother. Oh, will you not grant the last request of your 
own Hansford ?” 

And Virginia promised, and well and faithfully did she 
redeem that promise. That widowed mother gained a 
daughter in the loss of her noble boy, and died blessing the 
pure-hearted girl, whose soothing affection had sweetened 
her bitter sorrows, and smoothed her pathway to the quiet 
grave. 

“ And now, Mr. Bernard,” said Hansford, “it is useless 
to prolong this sad interview. We have been enemies. 
Forgive me if I have ever done you wrong — the prayers 
of a dying man are for your happiness. Farewell, Virginia, 
remember me to your kind old father and mother ; and look 
you,” he added, with a sigh, “ give this lock of my hair to 
my poor mother, and tell her that her orphan boy, who 
died blessing her, requested that she would place it in her 
old Bible, where I know she will often see it, and remember 
me when I am gone forever. Once more, Virginia, fare 


360 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


well ! Remember, dearest, that this brief life is but a seg- 
ment of the great circle of existence. The larger segment 
is beyond the grave. Then live on bravely, as I know you 
will virtuously, and we will meet in Heaven.” 

Without a word, for she dared not speak, Virginia 
received his last kiss upon her pale, cold forehead, and 
cherished it there as a seal of love, sacred as the sign of the 
Redeemer’s cross, traced on the infant brow at the baptis- 
mal font. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

** Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 
With a woeful agony, 

Which forced me to begin my tale, 

And then it left me free. 

Since then, at an uncertain hour, 

That agony returns, 

And till this ghastly tale is told 
My heart within me burns.” 

Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 

The sun shone brightly the next morning, as it rose 
above the forest of tall pines which surrounded the little- 
village of Accomac ; and as its rays stained the long 
icicles on the evergreen branches of the trees, they looked 
like the pendant jewels of amber which hung from the 
ears of the fierce, untutored chieftains of the forest. The 
air was clear and frosty, and the broad heaven, that hung 
like a blue curtain above the busy world, seemed even 
purer and more beautiful than ever. There, calm and 
eternal, it spread in its unclouded glory, above waters, 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


361 


woods, wilds, as if unmindful of the sorrows and the carea 
of earth. So hovers the wide providence of the eternal 
God over his creation, unmoved in its sublime depths by 
the joys and woes which agitate the mind of man, yet 
shining over him still, in its clear beauty, and beckoning 
him upwards I 

But on none did the sun shine with more brightness, or 
the sky smile with more bitter mockery, on that morning, 
than on the dark forms of Arthur Hutchinson and his 
young pupil, Alfred Bernard, as they sat together in the 
embrasure of the window which lightened the little room of 
the grave old preacher. A terrible revelation was that 
morning to be made, involving the fate of the young jesuit, 
and meting out a dread retribution for the crime that he had 
committed. Arthur Hutchinson had reserved for this day 
the narrative of the birth and history of , Alfred Bernard. 

It had been a story which he long had desired to know, but 
to all his urgent inquiries the old preacher had given an 
evasive reply. But now there was no longer need for mys- 
tery. The design of that long silence had been fully 
accomplished, and thus the stern misanthrope began his 
narrative : 

“ It matters little, Alfred Bernard, to speak of my own 
origin and parentage. Suffice it to say, that though not 
noble, ,by the? accepted rules of heraldry, my parents were 
noble in that higher sense, in which all may aspire to true 
nobility, a patent not granted for bloody feats in arms, nor 
by an erring man, but granted to true honesty and virtue 
from the court of heaven. I was not rich, and yet, by self- 
denial on the part of my parents, and by strict economy on 
my own part, I succeeded in entering Baliol College, Ox- * 
ford, where I pursued my studies with diligence and suc- 
cess. This success was more essential, because I could 
look only to my own resources in my struggle with the 
world. But, more than this, I had already learned to 


362 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


think and care for another than myself ; for I had yielded 
my young heart to one, who requited my affection with her 
own. I have long denied myself the luxury of looking 
back upon the bright image of that fair creature, so fair, 
and yet so fatal. But for your sake, and for mine own, I 
will draw aside the veil, which has fallen upon those early 
scenes, and look at them again. 

“ Mary Howard was just eighteen years of age, when she 
plighted her troth to me ; and surely never has Heaven 
placed a purer spirit in a more lovely form. Trusting and 
affectionate, her warm heart must needs fasten upon some- 
thing it might love ; and because we had been reared to- 
gether, and she was ignorant of the larger world around her, 
her love was fixed on me. I will not go back to those 
bright, joyous days of innocence and happiness. They are 
gone forever, Alfred Bernard, and I have lived, and now 
live for another object, than to indulge in the recollection 
of joy and love. The saddest day of my whole life, except 
one, and that has darkened all the rest, was when I first 
left her side to go to college. But still we looked onward 
with high hope, and many were the castles in the air, or 
rather the vine clad cottages, which we reared in fancy, for 
our future home. Hope, Alfred Bernard, though long 
deferred, it may sicken the heart, yet hope, however faint, 
is better than despair. 

“ Well ! I went to college, and my love for Mary spurred 
me on in my career, and honours came easily, but were only 
prized because she would be proud of them. But though 
I was a hard student, I was not without my friends, for I 
had a trusting heart then. Among these, yes, chief among 
these, was Edward Hansford . ” 

Bernard started at the mention of that name. He felt 
that some dark mystery was about to be unravelled, which 
would establish his connection with the unhappy rebel. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 363 

Yet he was lost in conjecture as to the character of the 
revel atfon. 

“ I have never in my long experience,” continued Hutch- 
inson, smiling sadly, as he observed the effect produced, 
“known any man who possessed, in so high a degree, the 
qualities which make men beloved and honoured. Brave, 
generous, and chivalrous ; brilliant in genius, classical in 
attainment, profound in intellect. His person was a fit 
palace for such a mind and such a heart. Yes, I can think 
of him now as he was, when I first knew him, before crime 
of the deepest dye had darkened his soul. I loved him as 
I never had loved a man before, as I never can love a man 
again. I might forgive the past, I could never trust 
again. 

“ Edward returned my love, I believe, with his whole 
heart. Our studies were the same, our feelings and opin- 
ions were congenial, and, in short, in the language of our 
great bard, we grew ‘ like a double cherry, only seeming 
parted . 1 I made him my confidant, and he used to laugh, 
in his good humoured way, at my enthusiastic description 
of Mary. He threatened to fall in love with her, himself, 
and to win her heart from me, and I dared him to do so, if 
he could ; and even, in my joyous triumph, invited him 
home with me in vacation, that he might see the lovely 
conquest I had made. Well, home we went together, and 
his welcome was all that I or he could wish. Mary, my 
sweet, confiding Mary, was so kind and gentle, that I loved 
her only the more, because she loved my friend so much. 
I never dreamed of jealousy, Alfred Bernard, or I might 
have seen beforehand the wiles of the insidious tempter. 
How often have I looked with transport on their graceful 
forms, as they stood to watch the golden sunset, from that 
sweet old porch, over which the roses clambered so 
thickly. 

“ But why do I thus delay. The story is at last a brief 


364 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


one. It wanted but two days of our return to Oxford, and 
we were all spending the the day together at old farmer 
Howard’s. Mary seemed strangely sad that evening, and 
whenever I spoke to her, her eyes filled with tears, and she 
trembled violently. Fool that I was, I attributed her 
tears and her agitation to her regret at parting from her 
lover. Little did I suspect the terrible storm which 
awaited me. Well, we parted, as lovers part, with sighs 
and tears, but with me, and alas ! with me alone in hope. 
Edward himself looked moody and low-spirited, and I re- 
collect that to cheer him up, I rallied him on being in love 
with Mary. Never will I forget his look, now that the 
riddle is solved, as he replied, fixing his clear, intense blue 
eyes upon me, ‘Arthur, the wisest philosophy is, not to 
trust your all in one venture. He who embarks his hopes 
and happiness in the heart of one woman, may make ship- 
wreck of them all.’ 

“ ‘ And so you, Mr. Philosopher,’ I replied, gaily/' would 
live and die an old bachelor. Now, for mine own part, 
with little Mary’s love, I promise you that my bacca- 
laureate degree at Oxford will be the only one to which I 
will aspire.’ 

“ He smiled, but said nothing, and we parted for the 
night. 

“ Early the next morning, even before the sun had risen, 
I went to his room to wake him — for on that day w r e were 
to have a last hunt. We had been laying up a stock of 
health, by such manly exercises for the coming session. 
Intimate as I was with him, I did not hesitate to enter his 
room without announcing myself. To my surprise he was 
not there, and the bed had evidently not been occupied. 
As I was about to leave the room, in some alarm, my eye 
rested upon a letter, which was lying on the table, and 
addressed to me. With a trembling hand I tore it open. 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 365 

and oh, my God ! it told me all — the faithlessness of my 
Mary, the villainy of my friend. ” 

“ The pefidious wretch,” cried Bernard, with indignation. 

“Beware, Alfred Bernard,” said the clergyman; “you 
know not what you say. My tale is not yet done. I re- 
member every word of that brief letter now — although more 
than thirty years have since passed over me. It ran thus : 

“‘Forgive me, Arthur; I meant not to have wronged 
you when I came, but in an unhappy moment temptation 
met me, and I yielded. My perfidy cannot be long con- 
cealed. Heaven has ordained that the fruit of our mutual 
guilt shall appear as the witness of my baseness and of 
Mary’s shame. Forgive me, but above all, forgive her, 
Arthur.’ 

“ This was all. Ho name was even signed to the death- 
warrant of all my hopes. At that moment a cold chill 
came over my heart, which has never left it since. That 
letter was the Medusa which turned it into stone. I did 
not rave — I did not weep. Believe me, Alfred Bernard, I 
was as calm at that moment as I am now. But the calm- 
ness was more terrible than open wrath. It was the sure 
indication of deep-rooted, deliberate revenge. I wrote a 
letter to my father, explaining every thing, and then sad- 
dling my horse, I turned his head towards old Howard’s 
cottage, and rode like the lightning. 

“ The old man was sitting in his shirt sleeves, in the 
porch. He saw me approach, and in his loud, hearty voice, 
which fell like fiendish mockery upon my ear, he cried out, 
‘Hallo, Arthur, my boy, come to say good-bye to your 
sweetheart again, hey ! Well, that’s right. You couldn’t 
part like loveyers before the stranger and the old folks. 
Shall I call my little Molly down V ” 

“ ‘ Old man,’ I said, in a hollow, sepulchral voice, ‘you 
have no daughter’ — and throwing myself from my horse, 1 
rushed into the house. 


/ 


THE DEVOTED BETDE. 


366 


“ I will not attempt to describe the scene which followed. 
How the old man rushed to her room, and the truth flashed 
upon his mind that she had fled with her guilty lover. How 
he threw himself upon the bed of his lost and ruined 
daughter, and a stranger before to tears, now wept aloud. 
Aud how he prayed with the fervor of one who prays for 
the salvation of a soul, that God would strike with the 
lightning of his wrath the destroyer of his peace, the be- 
trayer of his daughter’s virtue. Had Edward Hansford 
witnessed that scene, he had been punished enough even for 
his guilt. 

“ Well, he deserted the trusting girl, and she returned to 
her now darkened home ; but, alas, how changed ! When 
her child was borji, the innocent offspring of her guilt, in 
the care attending its nurture, the violent grief of the 
mother gave way to a calm and settled melancholy. All 
saw that the iron had entered her soul. Her old father 
died, blessing and forgiving her, and with touching regard 
for his memory, she refused to desecrate his pure name, by 
permitting the child of shame to bear it. She called it 
after a distant relation, who never heard of the dishonour 
thus attached to his name. A heart so pure as was the 
heart of Mary Howard, could not long bear up beneath 
this load of shame. She lingered about five years after the 
birth of her boy, and on her dying bed confided the child 
to me. There in that sacred hour, I vowed to rear and 
protect the little innocent, and by God’s permission I have 
kept that vow.” 

“ Oh, tell me, tell me,” said Bernard, wildly, “am I that 
child of guilt and shame.” 

“ Alas 1 Alfred, my son, you are,” said the preacher, 
“ but oh, you know not all the terrible vengeance which a 
mysterious heaven will this day visit on the children of your 
father.” 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE, 367 

As the awful truth gradually dawned upon him, Bernard 
cried with deep emotion. 

“ And Edward Hansford ! tell me what became of him ?” 

“With the most diligent search I could hear nothing of 
him for years. At length I learned that he had come to 
Virginia, married a young lady of some fortune and family, 
and had at last been killed in a skirmish with the Indians, 
leaving an only son, an infant in arms, the only remaining 
comfort of his widowed mother.” 

“ And that son,” cried Bernard, the perspiration burst- 
ing from his brow in the agony of the moment. 

“ Is Thomas Hansford, who, I fear, this day meets his 
fate by a brother’s and a rival’s hand.” • 

“ I demand your proof,” almost shrieked the agitated 
fratricide. 

“ The name first excited my suspicion,” returned Hutch- 
inson, “ and made me warn you from crossing his path, 
when I saw you the night of the ball at Jamestown. But 
confirmation was not wanting, for when this morning I 
visited his cell to administer the last consolations of reli- 
gion to him, I saw him gazing upon the features in minia- 
ture of that very Edward, who was the author of Mary 
Howard’s wrongs.” 

With a wild spring, Alfred Bernard bounded through 
the door, and as he rushed into the street, he heard the 
melancholy voice of the preacher, as he cried, “ Too late, 
too late.” 

Regardless of that cry, the miserable fratricide rushed 
madly along the path which led to the place of execution, 
where the Governor and his staff in accordance with the 
custom of the times had assembled to witness the death of 
a traitor. The slow procession with the rude sledge on 
which the condemned man was dragged, was still seen in 
the distance, and the deep hollow sound of the muffled 
drum, told him too plainly that the brief space of time 


368 


THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 


which remained, was drawing rapidly to a close. On, on, 
he sped, pushing aside the surprised populace who were 
themselves hastening to the gallows, to indulge the morbid 
passion to see the death and sufferings of a fellow man 
The road seemed lengthening as he went, but urged for- 
ward by desperation, regardless of fatigue, he still ran 
swiftly toward the spot. He came to an anerle of the road, 
where for a moment he lost sight of the gloomy spectacle, 
and in that moment he suffered the pangs of unutterable 
woe. Still the muffled drum, in its solemn tones assured 
him that there was yet a chance. But as he strained his 
eyes once more towards the fatal spot, the sound of merry 
music and the wild shouts of the populace fell like horrid 
mockery on his ear, for it announced that all was over. 

“ Too late, too late,” he shrieked, in horror, as he fell 
prostrate and lifeless on the ground. 

And above that dense crow r d, unheeding the wild shout 
of gratified vengeance that went up to heaven in that fear- 
ful moment, the soul of the generous and patriotic Hans- 
ford soared gladly on high with the spirits of the just, in 
the full enjoyment of perfect freedom. y 


Header my tale is done ! The spirits I have raised 
abandon me, and as their shadows pass slowly and silently 
away, the scenes that we have recounted seem like the fading 
phantoms of a dream. 

Yet has custom made it a duty to give some brief ac- 
count of those who have played their parts in this our little 
drama. In the present case, the intelligent reader, familiar 
with the history of Virginia, will require our services but 
little. 


THE HE VOTED BRIDE. 369 

History has relieved us of the duty of describing how 
biavely Thomas Hansford met his early fate, and how by 
his purity of life, and his calmness in death, he illustrated 
the noble sentiment of Corneille, that the crime and not 
the gallows constitutes the shame. 

History has told how William Berkeley, worn out by 
care and age, yielded his high functions to a milder sway, 
and returned to England to receive the reward of his 
rigour in his master’s smile ; and how that Charles Stuart, 
who with all his faults was not a cruel man, repulsed the 
stern old loyalist with a frown, and made his few remain- 
ing days dark and bitter. 

History has recorded the tender love of Berkeley for his 
wife, who long mourned his death, and at length dried her 
widowed tears on the warm and generous bosom of Philip 
Ludwell. 

And lastly, history has recorded how the masculine 
nature of Sarah Drummond, broken down with affliction 
and with poverty, knelt at the throne of her king to receive 
from his justice the broad lands of her husband, which had 
been confiscated by the uncompromising vengeance of Sir 
William Berkeley. 

Arthur Hutchinson, the victim of the treachery of his 
early friends, returned to England, and deprived of the 
sympathy of all, and of the companionship of Bernard, 
whose society had become essential to his happiness, pined 
away in obscurity, and died of a broken heart. 

Alfred Bernard, the treacherous friend, the heartless 
lover, the remorseful fratricide, could no longer raise his 
eyes to the betrothed mistress of his brother. He returned, 
with his patron, Sir William Berkeley, to his native land ; 
and in the retirement of the old man’s desolate home, he 
led a few years of deep remorse. Upon the death of his 
patron, his active spirit became impatient of the seclusion 
in which he had been buried, and true to his religion, if to 
23 


370 THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 

naught else, he engaged in one of the popish plots, so com- 
mon in the reign of Charles the Second, and at last met a 
rebel’s fate. 

Colonel and Mrs. Temple, lived long and happily in each 
other’s love; administering to the comfort of their bereaved 
child, and mutually sustaining each other, as they descended 
the hill of life, until they “ slept peacefully together at its 
foot.” The events of the Rebellion, having been conse- 
crated by being consigned to the glorious past , furnished a 
constant theme to the old lady — and late in life she was 
heard to say, that you could never meet now-a-days, such 
loyalty as then prevailed, nor among the rising generation 
of powdered fops, and flippant damsels, could you find such 
faithful hearts as Hansford’s and Virginia’s. 

And Virginia Temple, the gentle and trusting Virginia, 
was not entirely unhappy. The first agony of despair sub- 
sided into a gentle melancholy. Content in the perform- 
ance of the quiet duties allotted to her, she could look back 
with calmness and even with a melancholy pleasure to the 
bright dream of her earlier days. . She learned to kiss the 
rod which had smitten her, and which blossomed with 
blessings — and purified by affliction, her gentle nature be- 
came ripened for the sweet reunion with her Hansford, to 
which she looked forward with patiqnt hope. The human* 
heart, like the waters of Bethesda, needs often to be trou- 
bled to yield its true qualities of health and sweetness. 
Thus was it with Virginia, and in a peaceful resignation 
to her Father’s will, she lived and passed away, moving 
through the world, like the wind of the sweet Sputh, 
receiving and bestowing blessings. 


THE END. 


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* Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 


MAR *$7 

KKEEPER 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412) 779-2111 


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